Class -JL\AZ2^ 
Book.__La_5. 
Copyright N° 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



JAMES LUMSDEN 



The 

Skipper Parson 

On the Bays 
and Barrens of Newfoundland 



By 

JAMES LUMSDEN 



(i To do without thought of ivinning or achieve- 
ment ; to serve ivithout hope of gratitude or recognition} 
to accept the task and the opportunity of the day, and 
ask only strength to do it ivell^ to complain of nothings 
to live openly and self-containedly a life of moderation, 
free from ambition — let this and these things be my daily 
aspirations. ' ' 




NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS 
CINCINNATI: JENNINGS & GRAHAM 



r mi 



NOV 8 1906 

GQP* 



Copyright, 1905, by 
EATON & MAINS 



To 

My Mother, who consented to my leaving her for Christian 
work beyond the sea, and 

to 

My Wife, who shared with me five years of the labors 
here recounted, is this volume dedicated. 



PREFACE 



The aim of this volume is to give the story of 
nine years of interested observation and experience 
in Newfoundland, with information about the coun- 
try, past and present, and pen pictures of the land 
and people. 

The land of these sketches, though long neglected, 
is now attracting widespread attention. If this book 
serves in any degree to swell the wave of interest in 
a country I have learned to know and love I shall 
be glad. 

I gratefully acknowledge indebtedness to Messrs. 
Hatton and Harvey's History of Newfoundland, the 
Rev. Dr. Withrow's History of Canada, and sundry 
other works consulted ; also to the Rev. Edgar Tay- 
lor, of Exploits, and George Christian, Esq., of 
Trinity, Newfoundland, for points of information 
kindly supplied, as well as to others, named in the 
following pages. 

The Author. 

Southampton, Nova Scotia, September, 1905. 
5 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I 

Ye Oldest Colony 

Erroneous Notions — Discovery — Cabot — The Founding 
of an Empire — Unfair Treatment — Geographical 
Position — Size — Coast Line — Climate — Re- 
sources — French Shore Page 13 

CHAPTER II 
St. John's 

Arrival — Introduction — First Glimpses of the City — 
Harbor — Signal Hill — Population of Newfoundland 
— Religion — Church Buildings — Religious Censtis 
— The Churches, Dr. Grenfell and the Moravians — 
Methodism — Unique Claims — College and Orphan- 
age 24 

CHAPTER III 
Shipwreck 

The Llewellyn — First Incident — Weather — Quarters 
Below — Son of Bacchus — Night in Trinity Bay — 
Fatal Crash— Rush for the Deck— The Scene— Our 
Lifeboat — Last of the Llewellyn — Shag Rock — 
Open Boat — A Pleasing Incident — Ireland's Eye — 
House of Refuge — Thanksgiving — Morning Reflec- 
tions 35 

CHAPTER IV 

The Way I Commenced My Ministry 

Action not Thought — First Sabbath — Spiritual Conflict 
— Random Arm — Northern Bight — First Services 
— Dilemma — Shoal Harbor — Parsonage — Meeting 
with Mr. Lewis — Friendly Aid — Letter from the 

President 45 

7 



Contents 

CHAPTER V 

Random Sottth 

First Circuit — Circuit Cruiser — Plain Living and High 
Thinkings — Getting Around — First Lesson in Snow- 
shoeing — Christmas — ' ' A Nor'easter ' ' — Inglewood 
Forest — Walk along the Frozen Shore — Tramp 
across the Open Country Page 

CHAPTER VI 

Customs and Characterizations 

Flags in Trinity — A Substitute for a Bell — A more Novel 
Method — Fish — Favorite Beverage — Brewis — New- 
foundland Dog — Wretched Mongrel Breed — Pests 
— Education — Credit System — Women — The Tilt 
— Jack of All Trades — Singing — Little Sense of the 
Value of Time — Original Use of a Burning Log — 
Theology of the Fishermen — Scene in Labrador — 
Original Thinking — Love of Country 

CHAPTER VII 

Seasons of Refreshing 

Revivals — Circumstances Attending Commencement — 
A Ship's Crew Converted — The Widow's Son — An 
Opponent Converted — Abraham Martin — The Work 
Sustained — Lay Readers — Deer Harbor — One of 
the Secrets of Success 

CHAPTER VIII 

Lights and Shadows 

Confederation — Revised Version— Cookery Book — Su- 
perstition — A Sealing Story — An Incident in Leav- 
ing 

CHAPTER IX 
"Wesleyville 

The Name — Persecution of Mr. Todhunter — Descend- 
ants of Issachar — Circuit Conditions — Loneliness — 
— First Itinerary — A Queer Church — Notes by the 
Way — Monuments of the Grace of God — Cape Is- 
land — Open-air Funeral Service — The Roughest 
Part of Newfoundland — A Wreck — Noble Workers 

— Return 

8 



Contents 

CHAPTER X 

The Seal Fishery 

Steamers — Crews and Equipments — Species of Seals — 
A Fight with Old Dog Hood— Aim of the Hunters 
— Departure — The Seal Hunting Sermon — Suffer- 
ing and Character — Hardships — Converted on the 
Ice — Disabled Men — Rev. Mr. Noble's Story — 
Scene on the Ice Fields — Steamer's Return — A 
Touch of Real Life — Newfoundland Seal Fishery 
— Nature and Value — Wrecks and Loss of Life.. . 

Page i 06 

CHAPTER XI 

Other Peregrinations and Perils 

Snowshoeing — Snowstorm on the Barrens — The Great 
Thoroughfare — A Little Adventure on the Ice — 
Rev. George Bullen's Wonderful Escape 118 

CHAPTER XII 
From "Wesleyville to Harbor Grace via Fogo 

Extraordinary Difficulties in Getting to District and 
Conference — A Tramp to Musgrave Harbor — A 
Bear Story — A Hospitable Irishman — Fogo — 
Steam Launch to Harbor Grace — Humors of the 
Journey — Captain's Mistake — Trip from Bonavista 
to St. John's — The Thrasher — Harbor Grace — Or- 
dination — Ex-President Bond's Sermon 126 

CHAPTER XIII 

The New Parsonage 

My First Real Home in Terra Nova — A Splendid Recep- 
tion — "She'll Do" — Varied Duties — A Trying Ex- 
perience — Joy and Sorrow — A Sad Story with a 
Bright Ending — Housekeeping — Joy in Service. . . 136 

CHAPTER XIV 

Sidelights of Character 

Christian Perfection — Father John — Brother Didymus 
— Happy William — Sister Dauntless — Sister Gar- 
• rulous — -Sister Niggardly — Brother and Sister Aus- 
terity — Brother Kindheart 144 

CHAPTER XV 
Trinity 

Town and Circuit — Scene from Rider's Hill — Music of 
the Waves — The Methodist Church — Spiritual Pros- 
perity — Epworth League — A Faithful Family — 
9 



Contents 

Social Relations — Man of Leisure — Magistrate — 
The Beloved Physician — Election — Governor's 
Visit— The Steamer's Call Page 154 

CHAPTER XVI 

Sorrows of the Sea 

English Harbor — A Singing Congregation — Special Serv- 
ices — Widows and Fatherless — Death on the Ice 
— One of the Hardest Duties of My Life — Sorrow 
of Another Kind — A Never-to-be-forgotten Send 
Off 167 

CHAPTER XVII 
A Voyage North 

Our Steamer and Her Passengers — Icebergs — Catalina — 
Bona vista — Greenspond — Thoughts on Viewing 
Wesleyville Shore — Night — A Queer Notion — 
Good Morning — Notre Dame Bay— Twillingate — 
Glories of the Northern Coast — Pilley's Island — 
Little Bay Island — Little Bay 176 

CHAPTER XVIII 
Little Bay 

"Bight" and Loading Wharf — Good Feeling among 
the Churches — Concert — An Augury of Union — 
Social Work — An Out-dated Method of Mail Carry- 
ing — "Prospecting" — Number of Men Employed 
and Wages Paid — Historical Resume" of the Little 
Bay Mine — Mines and Minerals in Newfoundland . . 185 

CHAPTER XIX 
Cruising Again 

Halls Bay— Jerry— The Trip— Sabbath in Wolf Cove — 
Scenery — A Lone Scotchwoman — A Hermit Life — 
An Indian Funeral — The Aborigines — Sportsmen 
— Ptarmigan — Salmon — Caribou — A Sporting 
Country — A Missionary Tour — Equipment — A 
Skater's Assistance — Difficulties of Landing — First 
Meeting — Skipper Peter's Telling Speech — A Dan- 
gerous Walk — A Pleasant Tramp — Sunday on Pal- 
ley's Island — "Komi tick" Trained Dogs — Meeting 



in Little Bay — Results 194 

CHAPTER XX 
Farewell 

Final Leave — Contrasts — Hard Lives Ennobled by 

Faith — The Hope of Meeting in Heaven 210 

10 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



James Lumsden frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

St. John's Narrows 24 

Quidi Vidi, a Typical Newfoundland Harbor. ... 32 

New Gower Methodist Church, St. John's 48 

St. John's 64 

Weighing Fish 64 

A Characteristic Group of Fish Makers 80 

Trinity 96 

Iceberg 112 

Little Bay, The Bight 128 

In the Narrows 144 

Pilley's Island 160 

Revs. Harris, Indoe, and Browning on a Missionary 

Meeting Tour 176 

Caribou Swimming across the Bay 184 

Fishing Vessel 192 

Holyrood 200 

Loading Steamer with Hematite, Belle Isle, Conception 

Bay 208 



THE SKIPPER PARSON 



CHAPTER I 
Ye Oldest Colony 

"Dawnlight on the Northern waters, as on many a morn 
before, 

Regal sits a lonely island, girt by undiscovered shore ; 
White sails from the East draw nearer, English eyes enrap- 
tured see 

Terra Nova, first Colonia, fringe of empire yet to be." 

"Newfoundland !" As I write the word my 
imagination fires, and I seem to feel again the invig- 
orating breezes, and to see the brave display of 
bunting, characteristic of that rock-bound island 
home of the fisherman which nature has thrust out 
so boldly in the stormy Atlantic. 

Until quite recently most erroneous notions have 
prevailed regarding "ye ancient colony." This is 
not to be greatly wondered at, considering the 
dearth of information in the past. I recall my own 
experience with feelings of thankfulness for present- 
day improvement. On leaving England in 1881 
for the mission fields of Canada, I was disappointed 
to find, on application to one of the great public 
libraries of Manchester, that the only work in its 
catalogue on "Newfoundland" was a little book, 
by a military sportsman, bearing the uncompli- 

13 



The Skipper Parson 



mentary title, "Three Years in Fish and Fog 
Island." 

Various factors have had to do with the change 
now happily taking place. The introduction of rail- 
way facilities, the prominence given to the French 
Shore question (now amicably settled), fresh dis- 
coveries of coal and iron, and even the colony's mis- 
fortunes, such as the St. John's fire and the bank 
failures, have combined to give Newfoundland the 
attention of the world as never before. 

The discovery of Newfoundland, though an event 
of the first importance, was little signalized at the 
time. John Cabot, a Venetian, sailing from his 
adopted home, the famous port of Bristol, England, 
in a ship called The Mathew, remarkable only for her 
small dimensions and the courage and spirit of her 
brave English crew, was the noted discoverer. At 
daybreak on the twenty-fourth of June, 1497, the 
sailors of the gallant little ship heard the welcome 
cry, "Land, ho !" and this large island emerged from 
the darkness of the unknown to take her destined 
place in the world's life and history. In this famous 
voyage Cabot was accompanied by his son Sebastian, 
who himself became a distinguished navigator. 

King Henry VII, under whose patronage Cabot 
sailed, made the following curious entry in an ac- 
count of privy purse expenditure: "To Hym that 
found the New Isle, £10." The smallness of the 
gift in view of the greatness of the achievement has 
often been commented upon, to the discredit of the 
parsimonious king. A manuscript which has sur- 

14 



The Skipper Parson 



vived the wrecks of time gives a record equally 
curt and quaint, "In the year 1497, the 24th day 
of June, on St. John's Day, was Newfoundland 
found by Bristowe men, in a ship called The 
Mathew." 

In honor of the day Cabot named the "New Isle" 
St. John's Island, but when the great news spread 
in England it naturally became known, we presume, 
as New-found-land. 

Some days previously Cabot had discovered the 
mainland of America, In this discovery Cabot pre- 
ceded Columbus (on his third voyage) by fourteen 
months, thus giving to England the claim to the 
sovereignty of a large portion of North America. 
On this famous voyage Cabot did not take the 
course of Columbus, but steered in the stormier 
northwesterly direction, the track of the great steam- 
ers to-day, thus becoming in his tiny vessel the 
pioneer of modern Atlantic navigation. 

Cabot has received but scant recognition for his 
splendid services. The name of Columbus is every- 
where celebrated, while that of Cabot is little known. 
The historian can scarcely restrain his wrath as he 
writes of an injustice to "one of the noblest and 
bravest men who ever trod the deck of an English 
ship." He says : "He gave a continent to England ; 
and in all that wide region there is not a cape, or 
a headland, or harbor called by his name, except one 
small island off the eastern shores of Newfound- 
land, which, a few years ago, by an act of the local 
government, exchanged a vulgar name for the 

15 



The Skipper Parson 

honored one of Cabot's Island. The navy and com- 
merce of England received from him their first on- 
ward impulse, but no one can point to the few 
feet of earth which, in return for all his serv- 
ices, England gave as a last resting place for his 
ashes." 

Eighty-six years later, on the fifth day of August, 
1583, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on behalf of Queen 
Elizabeth, surrounded by a brilliant and motley 
group representing different nations, declared New- 
foundland part of the British dominions. It was 
a great thing to found a colony, but the chief actors 
in that picturesque and soul-stirring scene did some- 
thing far greater that day, although they dreamed 
not of it; they virtually founded an empire (New- 
foundland being the first installment), such as has 
won for Britain the title so felicitously phrased by 
one of her great statesmen, "the august mother of 
free nations." 

No British colony has suffered more from un- 
righteous laws, unfair treatment, and the lies of 
professed friends. Newfoundland is not "the bare 
rock wholly unproductive," "a place for the spread- 
ing of nets in the midst of the sea," nor yet "a great 
ship moored near the Banks during the fishing sea- 
son for the convenience of English fishermen." 
These libels were sedulously spread in times past 
by parties having a selfish interest in maintain- 
ing the colony as a mere fishing station, and they 
were only too successful, the world at large, for lack 

of better information, believing them to be true. It 

16 



The Skipper Parson 



is amazing to read in the history of Hatton and 
Harvey : 

"To prevent the increase of inhabitants on the 
island, positive instructions were given to the gov- 
ernors not to make any grants of land, and to reduce 
the number of people already settled there. A cer- 
tain Major Elford, Lieutenant and Governor of 
St. John's, even many years after the period we 
are discussing (1697- 1728), strongly recommended 
to the ministers of the day to allow no woman to 
land in the island, and that means should be adopted 
to remove those that were there." 

But Newfoundland's day has at last fairly 
dawned ; as with individuals, so sometimes with na- 
tions and communities, "the last shall be first and 
the first last." 

A glance at the map shows that Newfoundland 
occupies a most favorable position commercially 
and strategically. This great island guards the gate- 
way of the Dominion, the Gulf of St. Lawrence; 
and is the part of America nearest the Old World, 
which ships last see going east and first sight coming 
west. Many believe that sooner or later a great 
Transatlantic passenger service will be regularly 
run via Newfoundland, this route offering the short- 
est possible sea voyage, and the speediest possible 
connection, as well as the safest, between the Old 
W orld and the New. Already a railroad and steam- 
ship service renders the once formidable voyage to 
and from St. John's and the cities of Canada and 
the United States easy and delightful. The traveler. 

17 



The Skipper Parson 



now takes the steamer at Sydney, Cape Breton, and 
is landed within six hours at Port au Basques in 
Newfoundland, whence an awaiting train hurries 
him to St. John's. 

As to size, Newfoundland ranks tenth among 
the islands of the globe. Its greatest length, from 
Cape Ray to Cape Norman, is 317 miles; and its 
greatest breadth, from Cape Spear to Cape Anguille, 
is 316 miles. Its total area is 42,000 square miles. 
Compare it in this respect with other countries, and 
what do we find? It is one sixth larger than Ire- 
land, and contains 12,000 more square miles than 
Scotland. It is twice the size of the neighboring 
province, Nova Scotia, and one third larger than 
New Brunswick. If it be true that "the size of a 
country counts for a good deal and in the long run 
becomes a measure of political power," then New- 
foundland has this also in her favor. 

The coast of Newfoundland is remarkable for its 
noble bays, in some instances eighty or ninety miles 
in length, from which shoot off great arms of the 
sea or other indentures, carrying the wealth of the 
ocean far inland; also for its numerous harbors, 
coves, and creeks, many of them of unique and won- 
derful formation, havens of refuge which a kindly 
Providence has lavishly provided in an island where 
almost the whole population "go down to the sea 
in ships" and "do business in great waters." 

One of the commonest mistakes about Newfound- 
land is with regard to the climate. They who live 

in other parts of the world, including its nearest 

18 



The Skipper Parson 

neighbors, somehow confound Newfoundland with 
Labrador, Greenland, and the arctic regions gener- 
ally. Fog and cold are supposed to have their home 
in Newfoundland. The origin of these mistakes 
may probably be traced largely to the impressions 
that many have formed of Newfoundland from the 
deck of ocean steamers as they have sped through 
the fog and chill of the far-famed and much dreaded 
Banks. Swiftly passing, they have shrugged their 
shoulders while thinking of poor Newfoundlanders 
enshrouded in perpetual mists and battling for ex- 
istence amid storm and cold. These impressions 
have been given to the world, and wrong ideas have 
prevailed accordingly. But we must remember that 
the Banks are not Newfoundland. They lie a hun- 
dred miles off the shore. The fog which the navi- 
gator encounters is the result of the meeting and 
mingling of the waters of the arctic current and 
those of the Gulf Stream, that heated "river in the 
ocean." These fogs prevail mainly on the Banks 
and the southern and southeastern shores of the 
island; in other parts they are rarely seen. More- 
over the fogs do not penetrate far inland; as the 
fishermen say, "the land eats up the fog." And, 
further, it must be remembered that "it is only 
during a portion of the year, and when certain 
winds blow, that the fogs engendered on the Banks 
are wafted southward. During three fourths of 
the year the westerly winds carry the vapors across 
the Atlantic, and the British Isles get the benefit of 

the moisture. In winter there is little fog on the 

19 



The Skipper Parson 

Banks, as the arctic current then is stronger, and 
pushes the Gulf Stream more to the south; while 
in summer the latter spreads its warm waters 
nearer the shores of the island, and thus cre- 
ates the huge volumes of vapor which often en- 
velope both sea and shore." On the other hand, 
though partaking of the general character of the 
North American climate, the cold of winter is not 
so great as in the neighboring provinces, Nova 
Scotia and New Brunswick. According to Hatton 
and Harvey, "It is rarely and only for a few hours 
that the thermometer sinks below zero in winter; 
while the summer range rarely exceeds eighty de- 
grees, and for the most part does not rise above 
seventy degrees." Yet, though perhaps rarely, the 
extremes of heat and cold are felt. For instance, 
on February 8, 1 891, in English Harbor, we remem- 
ber one very cold day (which folk in that neighbor- 
hood said was the coldest they had ever known), 
when the mercury fell to thirty degrees below zero ; 
while in July, 1892, as far north as Little Bay we 
experienced several days of very warm weather, 
when the thermometer registered one hundred de- 
grees. On the northeastern coast, where we lived, 
the spring was late, long, and tedious, rendered so 
by the ice fields and icebergs borne on the waters 
which flow from Davis Straits, and wash that shore. 
This was always a trying season of the year. Not 
until July did we bid farewell to the chilly and often 
cutting winds, which persisted so long. But when 

summer came at last it was surpassingly beautiful, 

20 



The Skipper Parson 



and with its much prized appendage, commonly 
called the Indian summer, it lingered long, even to 
the end of October. The spring is earlier on the 
western shore. 

Newfoundland has great resources. Her fish- 
eries — cod and seal especially — are very productive, 
sustaining the larger part of the population, as well 
as attracting many vessels from the United States 
and France. The French and Americans pay atten- 
tion chiefly to the Bank fishery, while Newfound- 
landers follow mainly the Labrador and the shore 
fisheries, and the seal fishery on the ice fields. The 
fisheries of this island, which Lord Bacon, with 
farseeing wisdom, declared were "more valuable 
than all the mines of Peru," have been prosecuted 
for nearly four hundred years. It will not be news, 
therefore, that Newfoundland is the greatest fishing 
country in the world ; but to many it may be news 
that the colony possesses besides rich tracts of agri- 
cultural land great mineral wealth and an abundance 
of timber. Capital is being attracted, and New- 
foundland's great resources outside the fisheries are 
beginning to be developed. Railroad and steamboat 
facilities and all up-to-date appliances are following 
in the wake of capital and of growing industries. 
The prosperity of the colony was never so great as 
to-day. What will its future be? All the ordinary 
garden products are plentifully cultivated, and cer- 
tainly, if due attention were given to the soil, there 
would be no necessity for the importation of vege- 
tables. Not only does Newfoundland resemble the 

21 



The Skipper Parson 



Emerald Isle in the excellence of her potato, but also 
in the strange fact that neither venomous reptiles, 
frogs, nor toads are to be found in all the length 
and breadth of the land. 1 Tradition tells us that 
Ireland is indebted to Saint Patrick for charming 
these creatures from her shores. To whom is New- 
foundland obligated? Did Saint Patrick also visit 
her bleak domains? 

The French Shore question has been a bone of 
contention for nearly two hundred years. Unfor- 
tunately for Newfoundland, fishing privileges, to- 
gether with the use of the shore for the prosecution 
of the fishery, from Cape Ray around the western 
and northeastern shores to Cape St. John, which 
is by far the most fertile and valuable half of the 
entire coast line, were ceded by the imperial author- 
ities to the French by the Treaty of Utrecht in 171 3. 
The result has been endless disputes and the re- 
tarded development of this goodly shore. The 
French have persistently claimed that the treaty in 
question gave them not concurrent but exclusive 
rights for fishing purposes on this part of the coast, 
and that it prohibited its settlement by British sub- 
jects. While the British sovereignty over the entire 
island has always been unequivocally maintained, 
Great Britain, for the purpose of avoiding interna- 
tional broils, forbade settlement and discouraged 
fishing on this half of the coast. 

'With reference to Ireland the Gazetteer of the World says: "Frogs 
were unknown here till introduced by the English. . . . Toads and snakes 
are still unknown." 

22 



The Skipper Parson 



Since 1881 there has been a partial occupancy of 
the coast, but old difficulties remained to hamper 
British subjects and to provoke quarrels. Now at 
last this question is settled, and "King Edward, the 
peacemaker," sees removed another fruitful source 
of friction between Great Britain and a sister state. 
The year 1904 will always be memorable in New- 
foundland's history, for then a treaty was signed 
between France and England which settled the 
French Shore question. England's sovereignty 
over the whole island is now undisputed, the French 
withdrawing all their claims, though still retaining 
the right to fish in the territorial waters. The great- 
est bar to progress has been removed, and there 
opens a new and brighter era before the ancient 
colony. Sir Robert Bond, Premier of Newfound- 
land, will be remembered with gratitude for the able 
way in which he has conducted, on the colony's 
side, the negotiations that have led up to this long- 
wished-for consummation. 

Other features of the country will be noted and 

described as we proceed with our narrative. 

23 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER II 
St. John's 

"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in 
great waters ; these see the works of the Lord, and his 
wonders in the deep. . . . He maketh the storm a calm, so 
that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because 
they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven." 
— The Psalter. 

The good steamship Caspian, after a tempestu- 
ous voyage from Liverpool, England, which lasted 
ten days, slowly steamed into the quiet waters of 
the all-but-land-locked harbor of St. John's, New- 
foundland, on Saturday, September 24, 1881, at 
about 2 130 A. M. It is said that sailors during the 
first half of a voyage drink to the friends astern; 
after that, to friends ahead. My thoughts persist- 
ently and fondly clung to the friends and scenes I 
had left behind. The old homeland was dearer to 
me than I ever knew. Leaving it, in all probability 
forever, was an agony to me. The land before me, 
the land that was to be my home for nine years, 
the scene of my early missionary labors, of my early 
wedded life, the land of nativity to three of my 
children, was as yet to me unknown, untried, a New- 
found-land indeed. But now we were in the harbor 
of the chief city of my future island-home. The 
booming of the cannon that announced our arrival 

awoke me from my slumbers, and I was soon on deck. 

24 



The Skipper Parson 

The steamer was drawing near a low wharf dimly 
lighted. Already delayed on her voyage, as if fur- 
ther to tantalize awaiting friends, the Caspian ar- 
rived in the wee sma' hours of the morning. A 
score or so of persons were already gathered, and 
their number was slowly increasing. When we 
came within speaking range a fellow passenger 
shouted, "Is Garfield dead?" The reply sent back 
was the mournful "Yes." It will be remembered 
that this noble man and honored President of the 
United States had been cruelly shot by a disap- 
pointed office-seeker. He lingered eighty days, dy- 
ing September 19, 1881. England when we left her 
shores was bowed to the dust in anxious and sym- 
pathetic sorrow, and we all felt deep regret on 
hearing this, the first news since we left Ireland. 
This little incident, besides recalling a deeply pathetic 
event which touched the heart of the whole civilized 
world, will serve to show the great hunger for news 
which takes possession of those who have been a 
week or more at sea, and also suggests how rapidly 
the world moves, when some of the large ocean 
boats to-day boast a daily newspaper, thanks to 
Marconi and his wireless telegraphy. On landing, 
a fellow passenger kindly conducted me to Gower 
Street Parsonage, or "Mission House," as he called 
it, and the Rev. William W. Percival was soon down 
with a cheery greeting. Without delay I was shown 
to my room, where I was introduced to the Rev. 
J. Austin Jackson, whose bedfellow, by his kind 
permission, I was to be for the few remaining sleep- 

25 



The Skipper Parson 



ing hours. While I was in St. John's and during 
his short stay in Newfoundland, Mr. Jackson, by- 
different acts of kindness, showed himself a true 
friend. 

That day I began to make the acquaintance of 
Newfoundland, or more particularly of St. John's 
and its people. The weather was bright and very 
warm. The order of the day seemed to be intro- 
ductions. The people had an exceedingly pleasant 
way of greeting, nearly all expressing themselves 
in the same words, "Welcome to New-fun-land." 
These words, spoken with a soft, musical accent, 
were very grateful to the ear of a stranger. What 
my preconceived ideas of Newfoundland were I can 
hardly say, but I know that ice and snow were 
always present in every picture my imagination 
drew. The hot weather and the abundant foliage 
surprised me. At the delightful summer cottage 
of the Receiver-General, the Hon. J. J. Rogerson, 
where I took tea the first day of my arrival, the 
lilacs were abundant, and the air was laden with 
their perfume as well as that of other flowers. 

The voyager who catches his first glimpses of the 
city from the steamer's deck cannot fail to be im- 
pressed by its strikingly picturesque and command- 
ing situation. Steaming toward the coast from the 
Atlantic, there is no sign of a harbor, much less 
of a city of nearly thirty thousand people. 1 Rocky 
ramparts seem to bid defiance to the daring navi- 
gator, while he, on his part, appears to regard them 

1 By the census of 1901, the population of St. John's was 39.995- 
26 



The Skipper Parson 

with a friendly eye, for he deviates not a hair's 
breadth from his course. Suddenly the steamer 
glides into "The Narrows," as the entrance is well 
termed, and in a few minutes the surprised voyager 
finds himself, as if by magic, transported from the 
tempestuous billows of the stormy Atlantic to the 
quiet waters of one of the most perfectly landlocked 
harbors in the world. "The Narrows" is a wonder- 
ful natural phenomenon. To account for its exist- 
ence imagination pictures some mighty convulsion 
in nature splitting asunder this great wall of rock, 
affording the sea an entrance to the basin prepared 
for it by the great Master Builder, where its waves 
are converted into mere ripples, where the winds 
have lost their force, and the mariner finds rest and 
safety. The channel is nearly half a mile in length, 
and measures about fourteen hundred feet at its wid- 
est point, and only six hundred feet at its narrowest, 
so that a chain can easily be thrown across. It is 
with a feeling of awe and wonder that the voyager 
gazes on the rocky heights on either side, as the ves- 
sel slowly glides to her desired haven. Precipitous 
cliffs, over five hundred feet above the sea level on 
the right and over six hundred on the left, guard the 
entrance. On the summit of the hill on one side is 
the "Blockhouse" for signaling vessels ; on a rocky 
promontory on the other side is Fort Amherst light- 
house. "It is a scene which for grandeur and sub- 
limity is not surpassed along the entire American 
coast." The man who approaches a military camp 

meets the challenge of the sentinel, but when al- 

27 



The Skipper Parson 



lowed to pass he carries with him a sense of safety, 
guarded as he is by a wall of fire. Those moun- 
tain rocks are the sentinels of St. John's. To all 
comers they fling their challenge, but when once 
passed every sojourner feels better for knowing that 
they are there — mountains of stone against which 
the Atlantic storms spend themselves in vain. 

In ten minutes after leaving the open sea a 
steamer may safely be anchored within the harbor. 
The channel is deep, and an entrance may be effected 
by steamers of the largest tonnage at all periods of 
the tide. The harbor, about a mile in length, nearly 
half a mile in width, and of ample depth, is always 
crowded with shipping. The city, which has been 
largely modernized since the fire of 1892, is built on 
a hillside gently sloping to the water's edge. Every 
inch of available space seems occupied by dwelling 
houses, business premises, colleges, churches, cathe- 
drals, Anglican and Roman Catholic. From the 
summit of the hill on which the city is built there 
opens to view a wide expanse of country, fair and 
pleasant, well cultivated, and studded with many 
handsome residences. 

From Signal Hill, commanding the entrance to 

the harbor, a sublime prospect lies before us. From 

this height the shipping in the harbor, the loftiest 

buildings, and all the works of man seem diminutive. 

When we turn our eyes seaward our thoughts are 

of the infinite and the eternal. A solitary vessel 

here and there battling with the waves only serves 

to emphasize the vastness of the ocean, whose waters 

28 



The Skipper Parson 



break on the rocks beneath us, and extend so far 
beyond the horizon, washing the shores of distant 
lands. 

"Earth has not a plain 
So boundless or so beautiful as thine. 
The eagle's vision cannot take it in; 
The lightning's glance, too weak to sweep its space, 
Sinks halfway o'er it, like a weary bird; 
It is the mirror of the stars, where all 
Their hosts within the concave firmament, 
Gay marching to the music of the spheres, 
Can see themselves at once." 

The population of Newfoundland according to 
the last census (1901) was 217,037. The people 
are almost all of old-country stock. The most of 
the fishermen have descended from west of England 
and Irish forefathers ; a large and influential portion 
of the merchant class are Scotch; and among the 
miners and quarrymen are found many Welsh. 
Thus the life blood of the four kingdoms flows in 
the veins of Newfoundlanders to-day. They pos- 
sess that buoyant spirit, indomitable courage, com- 
mercial instinct, and the regard for religion, law, 
and order which have made the British people a 
power in the world, and have built up their world- 
wide empire. 

They have, however, developed characteristics 
peculiarly their own. They are generous to a fault ; 
are simple-hearted, easily moved to laughter or 
tears; and can take their place among the bravest 
of men. 

With reference to religion in Newfoundland, 

29 



The Skipper Parson 



James Rupert Elliott, in his Rambles in Ye Old 
Colony, says : "Out of all that we have seen of the 
religious life and work and influence, which come 
of the earnest thought of this people, we have been 
taught to bear a high respect for the whole reli- 
gious characteristics which the country appears to 
manifest. This country's pure, stimulating, impress- 
ive climate, which makes man something more than 
the being^of a day; its animating, sublime scenes, 
which beckon onward and upward; and its vigor- 
ous people, with their individual purposes, mark 
this as one peculiar spot to which the thinking world 
will one day turn with the utmost interest. We have 
been impressed with the idea that this is one of the 
corners of the earth, where religion will continue 
to be, with increasing force, something real, some- 
thing of the sentiments, the feelings, the prompt- 
ings of the individual heart." This intense spirit of 
religion, one manifestation of which is the church- 
going habit, boding so well for the future of the 
colony, is a general trait of the whole population, 
even more predominant and conspicuous in the 
smaller towns and outports than in St. John's. 

Church buildings are likewise a manifestation of 
religious life, a permanent embodiment of spiritual 
thought and feeling. The Roman Catholic cathe- 
dral is a great building on the most commanding 
site. The Anglican cathedral, destroyed in the last 
fire, was "as true a specimen of Gothic architecture 
as existed in the Western world." Happily the work 

of restoration is proceeding apace. Of Methodist 

30 



The Skipper Parson 



churches there are four or five. "New Gower" 
stands on the grand and historic site of "Old 
Gower," which was destroyed by fire, and is judged 
one of the finest Methodist churches in America. 
The Presbyterians possess a noble church edifice, 
as do also the Congregationalists. In the smaller 
towns and outports generally there are some sur- 
prisingly large and magnificent churches, while in 
almost every settlement there is sure to be found a 
neatly kept place of worship, even though small and 
unpretentious. These houses of prayer, great and 
small, impress the minds of the busy, toiling men 
with thoughts of God, the everlasting Father, and 
the dread realities of an eternal world. 

According to the census of 1901, the strength of 
the three leading denominations was as follows: 
Roman Catholic, 76,259; Church of England, 
73,016; Methodist, 61,379. The Presbyterian and 
Congregational Churches, whose able and spiritual 
ministry has been a strength to evangelical religion 
in the colony, and the Salvation Army, though nu- 
merically much smaller, are also carrying on a good 
and successful work. Dr. Grenfell's religious work 
on the Labrador coast is of later date. There is also 
an extensive work by the Moravians in Labrador. 

The Methodist Church had its beginning in New- 
foundland as far back as 1765, when Lawrence 
Coughlan, at the instance of the Rev. John Wesley, 
was ordained by the Bishop of London, and sent out 
as the first Methodist missionary. John Wesley 
wrote to Coughlan the following characteristic lines : 

31 



The Skipper Parson 



"By a various train of providences you have been 
led to the very place where God intended you should 
be. And you have reason to praise him, that he has 
not suffered your labor there to be in vain. In a 
short time how little will it signify whether we have 
lived in summer islands or beneath 'the rage of 
Arctos and eternal frost.' How soon will this dream 
of life be at an end ; and when we are once landed in 
eternity, it will all be one, whether we spent our 
time on earth in a palace, or had not where to lay 
our head." These are the thoughts that make men 
Christian heroes. That Lawrence Coughlan needed 
the inspiration of such reflections appears as his 
story is unfolded. The people among whom he 
labored, having been long neglected, were morally 
and spiritually low-sunken. Immorality of the 
worst description was common, and even the out- 
ward forms of religion had fallen into general dis- 
use. Mr. Coughlan's faithful labors soon aroused 
bitter persecution. He was arraigned before the 
highest court in the island, but acquitted. A physi- 
cian employed to poison him was happily converted 
to God, and revealed the dark design of the enemies 
of the gospel. At last being summoned before the 
governor, a wise and just ruler, he was not only 
honorably discharged", but actually made a Justice 
of the Peace. From that time the persecution 
ceased. He saw the fruit of his labors, and organ- 
ized societies. After seven years' toil, on account 
of ill health he returned to England. John Mc- 

Geary was sent out by Wesley to occupy the vacant 

32 



The Skipper Parson 

place. Twelve years had elapsed, and in the interim 
the spiritual work had much declined. McGeary 
found the work hard and discouraging. Humanly 
speaking, a critical point was reached; the lonely 
missionary, being almost completely disheartened, 
was about to abandon the task when the Rev. 
William Black, the pioneer of Methodism in Nova 
Scotia and New Brunswick, appeared on the field. 
McGeary greeted him with the grateful words, "I 
have been weeping before the Lord over my lonely 
situation and the darkness of the people, and your 
coming is like life from the dead." This was in 
1 79 1, and from that year the cause of God in New- 
foundland under Methodist instrumentality has 
spread and grown. 

It is interesting to note its successive stages of 
progress. In 1806 two missionaries and 508 mem- 
bers are reported. Eight years later — 1814 — there 
were six mission stations, which were formed into 
a district under the chairmanship of the Rev. W. 
Ellis. When, in 1855, Methodism in Newfoundland 
ceased to be under the direct control of the Wes- 
leyan Missionary Society in England, and became 
part of the Conference of the Wesleyan Methodist 
Church of Eastern British America, an epochal 
stage was reached in the pathway of progress. By 
the union effected in 1883 the Newfoundland 
Conference became one of eleven Conferences of 
one united Methodist Church of Canada. The 
Conference Minutes for 1903 showed present status 

as follows : Ministers and probationers, 72 ; mem- 

33 



The Skipper Parson 

bers, 11,665; Sunday school teachers and scholars, 
16,617. Church property owned by the Conference 
is estimated at the value of about half a million 
dollars. 

Newfoundland as Methodist ground can make 
certain unique claims which will always secure for 
her special interest on the part of all readers of 
Methodist history. What are these claims? That 
Newfoundland was the first mission ground of 
Methodism ; that in St. John's was formed the first 
class meeting in America ; and that from St. John's 
was sent the first contribution to the missionary 
fund of the parent church in England. These are 
facts which Newfoundland Methodists, at least, may 
be pardoned for not forgetting. 

The Methodist Church in Newfoundland is not 
only fervent but practical in spirit. In education she 
has accomplished much, and has a college in St. 
John's not surpassed by any in the colony. Her 
philanthropic spirit has found expression in the 
visible form of an orphanage, also in St. John's, 
and, as in other lands, she is in the van in temper- 
ance and moral reform. 

34 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER III 
Shipwreck 

"When, passing through the watery deep, 

I ask in faith His promised aid, 
The waves an awful distance keep, 

And shrink from my devoted head ; 
Fearless, their violence I dare ; 
They cannot harm, for God is there!" 

— Charles Wesley. 

The Conference had appointed me to Random 
South Mission, on the north side of Trinity Bay, 
and it was arranged that I should take passage in 
the schooner Llewellyn. It may be observed that 
my baggage had been placed on two craft previ- 
ously, and changed from one to the other until the 
Llewellyn, because bound to a point nearer my des- 
tination than either of the others, became the final 
choice. The Rev. Henry Lewis, from Random 
North — the circuit adjoining mine — who was to be 
my superintendent, was in St. John's at the time. 
He was very genial and brotherly, and his experi- 
ence, which his kind-heartedness placed at my dis- 
posal, I found helpful in different ways. On the 
morning of Friday, September 30, I received word 
that all was ready for departure; this was about 
eight o'clock. A hurried breakfast, and an equally 
hurried farewell to my kind host and hostess, Cap- 
tain and Mrs. Green, whose hospitality for about a 

35 



The Skipper Parson 



week I had so thoroughly enjoyed, and I was soon 
on board. 

The Llewellyn, the first sailing vessel I had ever 
boarded, was a little schooner of about sixty tons 
burden, totally lacking in comfort — a fair sample 
of the kind of craft that carry Newfoundland fish- 
ermen to the distant shores of Labrador in pursuit 
of their precarious and arduous calling. She was 
loaded with provisions and household utensils nec- 
essary for life during the long winter in the isolated 
districts of Random. My companions in travel were 
three other passengers, including a young lady 
from Harbor Grace, and a crew of four men and a 
boy — nine of us in all. 

The first circumstance that came under my notice 
was ominous of ill rather than good. Happening 
to look down the companion way, I saw an old man 
— a passenger — drinking spirits. The liquor was 
at once put away by one who, in a hoarse whisper, 
said, "It's the minister." The hoary-headed toper 
was not so easily frightened, and in a loud, defiant 
tone answered, "Never mind him." 

The morning was grandly fine, and we enjoyed 
that great desideratum, a free wind. There was an 
uncomfortable swell on the ocean, though none 
probably but a landsman would have thought so. 
We had, however, nothing to complain of as far as 
sky and sea were concerned, and, in sailorlike fash- 
ion, could speak gleefully of 

"A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 
A wind that follows fast." 
36 



The Skipper Parson 



It was not long before I began to feel very sea- 
sick, and was compelled to seek refuge in the quar- 
ters below. The cabin could hardly be called "spick 
and span," and the air was of that condition that 
increases the tortures of an already qualmish state, 
though otherwise soporific in its effects. Our 
wretchedness was increased by the stove's provoking 
stubbornness in persisting to send its foul and blind- 
ing vapors the wrong way. But worse than all was 
the profane and senile speech of the devotee of the 
bottle. There was no alternative ; so, divesting my- 
self of coat and boots, I took the skipper's bunk, 
which had been kindly offered me. 

The old man seemed to have created something 
like a reign of terror on board. All stood in fear 
of him. Every hour, or at intervals he claimed to 
be hours, he called for his grog. An attempt was 
made on one occasion to keep the liquor from 
him, when he yelled in rage, "Mind you don't 
anger me now; I'll smash everything in the cabin 
if you do." 

Before night the other passengers, like myself, 
had ''turned in." Things became quieter, and even 
the votary of Bacchus held his peace at last. The 
heavy tread of the men on deck, the groaning and 
creaking of the spars, and the gurgling and splash- 
ing of the water around the ship were the only 
sounds now heard. We had ere this, I understood, 
entered Trinity Bay, and the wind was "head." A 
hymn sung by one of the sailors on deck broke the 
dismal silence. The words being new to me, and 

37 



The Skipper Parson 



suiting my mood, were especially pleasing; more- 
over, the singer did his part well. He sang : 

"I am thine, O Lord, I have heard thy voice, 
And it told thy love to me." 

While occupied with my own thoughts, the other 
passengers being asleep, we were gradually ap- 
proaching a fearful catastrophe, and knew it not. 
It broke upon us at last. At about half-past eleven 
in the night, suddenly as a flash of lightning we 
heard a piercing cry from the skipper on the watch : 
"Hard down the helm, for God's sake — she's on a 
rock!" It was too late for any deft move of the 
helmsman to escape the rock. Instantly she struck 
with a heavy thud that shook her in every beam. 

At this moment two of the crew were in the 
cabin lighting their pipes, which they dropped and 
rushed on deck. The awakened and alarmed pas- 
sengers went after them almost as fast, and I, hardly 
realizing the danger, followed in their train. The 
outlook from the deck, to all appearance, was death. 
The night was not stormy, but dark — "as dark as 
the grave," as the skipper expressed it. 

The deck of the little craft now became the scene 
of intense and solemn excitement. The crew, with 
the single exception of the boy, who lay on the 
deck crying, behaved splendidly. They all displayed 
admirable coolness and promptitude, working with 
the energy of men who felt their lives at stake. 
The fright sobered the old man. Here he was, sud- 
denly called from a drunken stupor to stand face to 

38 



The Skipper Parson 



face with death. Poor fellow ! This was a contest 
for which he was altogether unequal. It was piti- 
able in the extreme to see this man, whose stalwart 
frame and. hoary locks alone made him an im- 
pressive figure, pacing the deck of the doomed ship 
in the darkness of that awful midnight hour, cry- 
ing, "My God! my God! We're lost! we're lost!" 
The young lady acted bravely, but it was heart- 
rending to hear her lamentations over her dear 
parents for the sorrow which she thought was in 
store for them on hearing of her untimely end, 
and also her oft-repeated prayer to God to have 
mercy on her soul. I shall not attempt to reveal 
fully my own thoughts and feelings in that most 
solemn of all moments, when we stood under the 
very shadow of eternity. But as an unprofitable 
servant's testimony may be blessed to the strength- 
ening of some soul nearing the borderland, or some 
one like myself called suddenly to stand face to face 
with Death, I will not wholly omit it. I realized 
that in all probability my last hour had come, and 
God gave me the grace of resignation to his will. 
I was not anxious : the cross of Christ was my peace. 
Safe in an almighty hand, I was able to repeat, as 
the language of my heart, words since doubly dear : 

"If life be long, I will be glad 

That I may long obey; 
If short, yet why should I be sad 
To soar to endless day?" 

All this took place during the few minutes the crew 
were at work getting the vessel off the rock. She 

39 



The Skipper Parson 



now glided back into deep water. "All hands to 
the pumps/' shouted the skipper. Hardly was the 
order given before he called again to us standing 
aft, "See if there's any water in the cabin." In- 
stantly went back the answer, "She's a foot deep; 
the water is pouring into her." We all now fully 
realized that a few minutes would decide our fate. 
Thoroughly aroused, we joined with the crew in the 
shout, "Get out the boat." This was our only hope. 
Quicker than words the boat was launched and we 
were in it. There was no thought for anything 
now but our lives. By this time the water was near- 
ing the level of the deck of the sinking schooner, 
and the excited cry went up for a hatchet to cut the 
rope that fastened our "lifeboat" to the fast-founder- 
ing vessel. A moment or two, supremely critical, 
of great suspense, and the rope was cut and we were 
free. A few minutes later and we should have been 
lost. We pushed off. I kept my eyes on the ill- 
fated Llewellyn. We were only three or four boat- 
lengths away when she went down. The light that 
streamed from her cabin w T as first suddenly extin- 
guished. The vessel was now under water. Slowly, 
steadily, the masts disappeared, until the topmost 
spar had vanished, and the Llewellyn was buried 
forever beneath the cold, relentless waters. At this 
moment, overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude 
for our spared lives, with uncontrollable emotion I 
sang in a loud voice: 

"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow." 
40 



The Skipper Parson 



The rock on which the Llewellyn received her 
death blow was Shag Rock, Duck Island, about 
four miles off the northern side of Trinity Bay, as 
is shown on the map. The schooner had been beat- 
ing her course up the bay, and at the moment of 
collision was sailing at a good speed, under a smart 
"sideling" breeze. The blow, as we have seen, was 
a fatal one for the Llewellyn. It is not for me to 
apportion blame, but merely to describe the actual 
occurrence. I saw no one take liquor except my 
aged friend. 

It was well for us that the night was not stormy, 
for our boat — it is hard for me to speak slightingly 
of the boat that saved us — was but an ill-conditioned 
punt, "cranky," to use the word applied to it by the 
sailors, and could never have survived in even a 
mildly boisterous sea. In our haste we had only 
taken two oars, and one of them was imperfect. 
The darkness was intense, and not even relieved 
by the friendly gleam of a distant lighthouse. I was 
without hat or coat or boots; others were in an 
equally bad plight. We shivered with wet and cold, 
but there was no word of complaint. These incon- 
veniences seemed nothing in presence of the fact that 
our lives had been so providentially spared. There 
was an unbroken silence, as when men have some- 
thing unusually solemn to think about. 

This silence was at last broken by an incident 
which for the first time revealed to me what I after- 
ward proved again and again, the soft heart, the 

chivalrous spirit, possessed by many of Newfound- 

41 



The Skipper Parson 



land's hardy fishermen. One of the crew, called 
Jacob, rose at the other end of the boat and asked, 
"How is the parson?" I replied, as cheerfully as 
possible, "All right, thank you." Not satisfied, he 
plied me with questions until he found I had no 
boots, when he immediately pulled off his own, and, 
deaf to my loudest protestations, simply compelled 
me to put them on, thus exposing himself to the cold, 
and possibly injury from the sharp rocks on land- 
ing, to advantage me. 

It was about half-past one in the morning when 
we entered a long, narrow creek called Ireland's 
Eye. After paddling a space in the deeper dark- 
ness of frowning cliffs, suddenly from a cottage 
window, high and in the distance, a light shone, 
thrilling our hearts with joy. Its bright and friendly 
gleam seemed at once to assure us of safety, and 
to welcome us to a refuge. We can never forget 
it, nor the gladness it brought to our sad hearts. 

The old man, who had been significantly quiet 
since the wreck, was one of the first to step on the 
wharf, exclaiming as he did so, "Thank God, I'm 
out of hell." With this devout exclamation upon his 
lips, we bid good-bye to a fellow voyager and com- 
panion in misfortune, trusting that a gleam of light 
arose upon his soul, that in the end he found that 
mercy God delights to bestow. Needless to say we 
were all glad to be again on terra firma. 

We had to arouse the people in the house from 

whose window shone the friendly gleam. Again 

and again we knocked, and at last a voice responded, 

42 



The Skipper Parson 



"Who's there?" "Shipwrecked men," our skipper 
replied. Then we heard the same voice in a loud 
and excited soliloquy: "O, my God! I know all 
about it — I saw it all in my dream." On entering 
this kindly shelter, after greetings and explanations, 
the first thing we did was to return thanks to God 
for our deliverance. We sang, "Jesus, lover of my 
soul," and as we knelt and gave expression to feel- 
ings of deepest gratitude, fervent "Amens!" broke 
from the lips of those around. 

The people of the house received us most kindly. 
Of course it was impossible for them to accommo- 
date their numerous and unexpected guests in the 
way they would have been glad to do under other 
circumstances, especially as we besieged their lonely 
dwelling at such an hour. In the words of the apos- 
tle, they cheerfully said, "Such as I have give I 
thee ;" and more grateful to us poor castaways than 
ever beds of down to home-staying bodies were the 
beds extemporized on the floor of that fisherman's 
cottage on that eventful morning. 

When I awoke my eyes were bloodshot with cold, 
and realizing the position I was in I could not help 
feeling greatly depressed. I had saved from the 
wreck but one portmanteau, which happened to lie 
at my feet on the deck; all the rest had been left 
behind, and had not even been thought of. But 
now, through God's mercy, I opened my eyes on 
the workaday world again, and for the first time in 
my life felt quite unprepared to meet it. There are 
few of us, I imagine, altogether oblivious to our 

43 



The Skipper Parson 



surroundings. I confess having little of that 
stoicism. As cold causes the mercury to drop to 
zero, so a man's surroundings will sometimes affect 
his spirits. This morning that peculiar condition 
of things prevailed with me. I was conscious of 
the absence, like a yawning gulf, of loved ones and 
familiar friends. Not a being did I know. Nature, 
too, was unsympathetic and somber; gray sky, gray 
sea, gray rocks. There was no comfort anywhere 
except in God. I stood on the giant rocks and 
looked out on "great, lone Trinity Bay" until my 
heart was sick, and I turned away well-nigh in de- 
spair. Not so much the loss of my outfit and library 
did I regret, though these were valuable, and I 
found myself without even a Bible, a hymn book, 
or a cent in money; but the sudden swallowing up 
of all that linked me with a bright and happy past, 
presents, heirlooms, treasures, things that money 
could not replace. Here I was a stranger in a 
strange land, a castaway. 

44 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER IV 
The Way I Commenced My Ministry 

"Father, I know that all my life 

Is portioned out to me, 
And the changes that are sure to come 

I do not fear to see ; 
But I ask thee for a present mind, 
Intent on pleasing thee." — Miss Waring. 

Happily there was not much time for thought. 
We were called upon to act. It was arranged that 
our voyage should be continued in the vessel belong- 
ing to our kind host, who volunteered to take us. 
Before it was possible for me to proceed I had to 
borrow clothing. Our host, a man twice my size 
and build, supplied me for the occasion with long 
boots, a warm coat, and a scarf. A Tarn o' Shanter 
cap which I had in my portmanteau completed my 
attire. Once more we committed ourselves to the 
deep. We had a head wind and a wretched time. 
I could not bring myself to go below, but lay on 
the deck, without any desire for food. By nightfall 
we were landed in the settlement where the skipper 
of the Llewellyn lived, known as Long Beach. We 
were very sorry for this poor man in the loss of 
his vessel, which meant much to him. I spent the 
night at his home, and it was impossible to witness, 
unmoved, the grief of his wife and friends. I re- 

45 



The Skipper Parson 



ceived nothing but kindness from his hands from 
first to last, as also from all the crew. 

Next day was the Sabbath, "most beautiful, most 
bright," and as I walked out on the soft, green 
sward that morning it seemed as if all nature had 
undergone a transformation. We were in the 
Southwest Arm of Random, a beautiful sheet of 
water, two miles wide, and running inland fifteen 
miles. The land on both sides of the Arm was 
thickly wooded to the water's edge, except here and 
there where there was a clearance and a settlement 
built up. Everything was resplendent in the glorious 
sunshine — everything but my poor heart. I lay on 
the grass, and there on that lovely morning of the 
Lord's Day I found myself in the bitter throes of 
a spiritual conflict, unlike any known before or 
since. I doubted my call to the work of God in 
Newfoundland, events seeming to indicate that the 
hand of God was against me. I asked God that I 
might not be left in doubt regarding his will, and 
he answered the prayer. 

We now began the last stage of our journey. We 

were taken in a rowboat that Sunday morning to 

Northern Bight, our destination — that is, the young 

lady passenger (now looking quite cheerful) and 

myself. The water was transparent in its clearness, 

and perfectly calm. The day was warm as well as 

beautiful. By and by as we neared the head of 

the Arm we caught the first glimpse of Northern 

Bight. The little village, with its stretch of houses, 

and, at one end, its two churches, all shining in 

46 



The Skipper Parson 



white paint, and in the background the dark green 
of tree-clad hills, looked as pretty as a picture. As 
we drew near we noticed that the people were com- 
ing out of church. Arrivals were only at infrequent 
intervals, and our coming naturally created a stir. 
We could see them as they brought their glasses to 
spy us out. Evidently the absorbing question was, 
"Who are they?" They decided, as I afterward 
heard, that the man in the queer rig must be a rail- 
way surveyor. They never thought of identifying 
him with the young minister they were expecting 
from England. The people received me with open 
arms. From the first they showed a kindly, even 
an anxious interest. The house I entered, with its 
neat and cleanly appearance, wherein was the appe- 
tizing savor of pork and cabbage being cooked for 
dinner, was most inviting after the perils and priva- 
tions of the last few days. The little room that 
was to be my sanctum for the next two years was 
soon crowded with friends eager both to hear my 
story and to help. "Have you saved nothing?" 
asked one. "Nothing," I replied, "but what is in 
my head." Said he, with kindly humor, "I hope 
you have something in your heart, too." 

Having returned the clothes loaned me by my 
big, kind friend in Ireland's Eye/ I was compelled 
to borrow once more. "Lend me a pair of boots 
and I'll preach to you," I said. I soon got their 
answer. I found that during dinner they had 
opened their stores and ransacked their wardrobes 
in my interest. They spread before me half a dozen 

47 



The Skipper Parson 



hats, several pairs of boots and other garments, 
from which I was invited to make my own selection. 
The hat chosen was not the best fit, neither was it 
in the latest fashion; the coat evidently was not 
made for me, and now I boasted a brand-new pair 
of long boots. Thus fitted out by my enthusiastic 
friends, I commenced my work as a Methodist 
preacher. 

My text that afternoon was consolatory, John 
14. 27: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give 
unto you : not as the world giveth, give I unto you. 
Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be 
afraid." In the evening it was admonitory, Matt. 
24. 44: "Therefore be ye also ready: for in such 
an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.' , 
At the first service that afternoon the cloud lifted, 
and I felt I could take up the work God had given 
me to do with a calm heart, an unwavering faith. 

On Monday morning, however, I found that my 
real difficulties had not been removed but awaited 
solution. My dilemma may be stated in a few 
words. Not only was I without needful clothing 
for the coming winter, but I had lost my library 
and all working materials, not having even the books 
in the probationer's course which I was expected 
to study with a view to examination at the next 
district meeting, and this while I seemed so far off 
from the sources of supply. 

Early in the morning, therefore, I set off to walk 

to Shoal Harbor, Random North, a distance of 

twelve miles, to seek counsel and help from the 

48 



The Skipper Parson 



Rev. Henry Lewis. After a weary walk, when I 
arrived at the parsonage I was disappointed to hear 
that Mr. Lewis had not returned from St. John's. 
I was the innocent occasion of perplexity to Mrs. 
Lewis, as she often afterward confessed. Of course, 
being an absolute stranger, I had to introduce my- 
self. The account of the shipwreck was briefly 
given in explanation of my unexpected visit and 
very unclerical appearance. Mr. Lewis was absent, 
and here was one with a very plausible story, whom 
nobody in the place knew, and who presented 
no credentials; to believe or not to believe — that 
was the question. Here was Mrs. Lewis's perplex- 
ity; her hesitancy was but short. A woman's in- 
stinct (and she was one of the most amiable and 
judicious of women) led her aright. I was admitted 
to their hospitality, and doubt not that theirs was 
the blessing of Him who said, "I was a stranger 
and ye took me in." 

It was a day or two before Mr. Lewis arrived. 
I then went down to the beach to meet him. He 
had heard of my trouble, and was anxious about me, 
fearing that discouraged and broken in spirit I 
would be off again, shaking the dust from my feet 
in leaving those inhospitable shores. In coming 
toward me his eyes were cast down, but when our 
eyes met we read one another's thoughts and invol- 
untarily laughed outright. We had either to laugh 
or to cry, and our conflicting feelings found relief in 
mirth. It was well it was so, for has not the wise 

man said, "A merry heart doeth good like a med- 

49 



The Skipper Parson 



icine; but a broken spirit drieth the bones"? With 
Mr. and Mrs. Lewis I stayed some days, and was 
treated with the greatest possible kindness. On 
leaving I was fitted out with many little necessaries, 
which added much to my comfort. This was not 
my last visit to the parsonage at Shoal Harbor; 
at intervals, necessarily far apart on account of the 
exigencies of the work, I enjoyed refreshing and 
happy hours under that hospitable roof. 

Doubtless a man has to be in trouble to discover 
how many kind hearts there are in the world. From 
England and St. John's I soon got word of finan- 
cial aid; while from Nova Scotia and New Bruns- 
wick, and even the Northwest Territory, I received 
letters of sympathy and encouragement, as well as 
an occasional volume. Among the most touching 
of these communications was a letter from William 
Holland, Esq. (now Sir William Holland, M.P.), 
my old Sunday school teacher and class leader in 
Cheetham Hill, Wesleyan Church, Manchester, en- 
closing money. He said he would have cabled if 
there had been a bank in Random, and intimated 
that there was more to follow. I did not accept the 
proffered help in this direction, though fearing I 
might be misunderstood. The kind thoughtfulness 
of the act, however, is one of the things I shall never 
forget. Neither can I forget the kindness of my 
dear friends the officers and teachers of Red Bank 
Ragged School, Manchester, who duplicated their 
valuable present of books. Curious to relate, a 

trunk of clothing, of which I was in immediate need, 

50 



The Skipper Parson 



despatched at the earliest opportunity from St. 
John's, only reached me near the end of the year. 

This, then, is the way I commenced my ministry, 
so utterly different from what I had anticipated 
or would have chosen. But God's way for each is 
the right way. Sometimes in after years we see it, 
and praise him ; sometimes we ^ee it dimly, if at all, 
and yet we praise him, believing that in the better 
world all will be made plain. 

From the President of the Conference, the Rev. 
Charles Ladner, whom I did not meet until the 
following summer, I received, by letter, "a most 
hearty welcome to the ranks of our ministry in this 
colony." Truly I felt I had entered upon a holy 
apostolate when I read his words : 

"In this country God has made Methodism the 
means of saving thousands of souls. Our fathers 
toiled along these rugged shores, and saw multi- 
tudes saved. They suffered many privations, some- 
times persecutions, but they achieved great things 
in the name and strength of the Master. God gave 
them many revivals of religion. I am glad to in- 
form you that their sons in the ministry are also 
blessed in this the greatest of all work. I pray you 
may have souls given on every circuit you shall be 
appointed to." 

51 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER V 
Random South 

"Back o'er the past with reinless speed 

The wayward fancy sweeps, 
And with the absent and the dead 
A sweet communion keeps." — Mrs. Rogerson. 

A Methodist minister, because of the itinerant 
system, labors in the course of his lifetime on many 
different circuits ; but however many and diversified 
these circuits, it is probably true that the first will 
always hold a unique place in his life, the memory 
of it living longest. This does not mean that it is 
loved above others ; it may or may not be. It does 
mean that the experiences being altogether new, 
the emotions stirred are profound and the impres- 
sions indelible. May I venture on a bold figure? 
A mother has several children and loves them 
equally well, but the first, with whom is associated 
the earliest experience of motherhood, new thoughts, 
feelings, hopes, and fears, occupies a place apart. 
So the minister, if I may judge from my own ex- 
perience, regards his first circuit somewhat differ- 
ently from any he may afterward have. The scenes 
and events of my earliest days in the ministry, my 
novitiate, are as vivid as if they happened but yes- 
terday; and as I recall them many a deep chord is 
touched in my heart. 

52 



The Skipper Parson 



My circuit consisted of sixteen preaching places 
in all. These were settlements, harbors, and coves, 
most of them with distinguished names, on either 
side of the Southwest Arm, and on the south side 
of the Northwest Arm, and one on the north side 
of the bay. To go around this circuit once meant to 
cover a distance of not less than sixty miles. It meant 
crossing and recrossing an arm of the sea two miles 
in width; footing it through the forest; and in win- 
ter, when the frost king reigned, walking across the 
Arm or harbors as the ice made it possible, and 
sailing in an open boat in all seasons to Deer Har- 
bor in Trinity Bay. In this district there were no 
roads, nothing better than a footpath or track. A 
horse and carriage would have been a superfluity, 
and even a horse to ride would have been of 
little service. Therefore "circuit cruiser" would 
be a true designation of the preacher rather than 
the one so well known elsewhere, the old-time "cir- 
cuit rider." "Circuit cruiser," too, would be in* 
harmony with the nomenclature of the country. 
Every trip was a cruise, whether by sea or by land, 
and there was no commoner question than this: 
"Bound for a cruise to-day, sir?" And I have 
known a minister to be honored with the clerico- 
nautical appellation, "Skipper Parson." Schooners, 
skiffs, punts, snowshoes ("rackets," in common par- 
lance), were the ordinary dependences. The mis- 
sionary traveled as best he could, according to time 
and circumstances. It was seldom, if ever, he did 
not succeed in making the entire round each month, 

53 



The Skipper Parson 



Besides preaching two or three times on Sunday, 
I preached every night in the week, with the single 
exception of Saturday, and carrying my books with 
me spent the hours when not traveling or preaching 
in studying for examinations, thinking out sermons, 
and visiting from house to house. The daily fare 
was not luxurious, the staple being bread and tea; 
but the people were the soul of kindness, and it was 
their delight to honor their minister with their best. 
In homes where he was a regular visitor, there 
was the "prophet's chamber," sacred to him alone. 
When the dear "mother in Israel," whose name and 
memory successive generations of preachers cherish, 
spread the immaculate cloth, such luxuries as she 
could command were provided, and a standard arti- 
cle was loaf sugar. While traveling among the very 
poor, when bread and tea grew tiresome, herring and 
potatoes would be prized like the patriarch's savory 
meat; but the good people being hard to convince 
that their minister would partake of such "com- 
mon victuals," he had to make known his wish. 
By and by they learned better. Milk was not to be 
had, and fresh meat was a rarity. Your missionary 
considered himself particularly lucky if he happened 
along when a bird had been shot, or, even better, 
when a bit of venison was obtainable. Thus, with 
his theology and metaphysics on the one hand, and 
on the other his bill of fare as described, while mean- 
ing no reflection on a noble-hearted people, it will 
surely be conceded that he realized the poet's ideal, 
"plain living and high thinking." 

S4 



The Skipper Parson 

We had a few small churches and several school 
chapels (buildings serving both the purposes of a 
church and a day school), on the circuit, and for 
the rest we preached in houses. In "cruising 
round," the understood order of procedure was this : 
the missionary at the close of a service announced 
the place he wished to visit next; if by water, a 
boat and crew would be waiting for him at an ap- 
pointed hour, usually early in the morning; if by 
land, a guide could be obtained when necessary. 
My boating expeditions were almost every day. 
The size of the boat and the number of the crew 
necessarily depended upon destination, weather 
conditions, etc. If confined to the Arm and when 
the day was fine, a punt ( in Newfoundland a keeled 
rowboat of peculiar native construction) and one 
man sufficed; if out in the bay to Deer Harbor, a 
"cod-seine skiff" and half a dozen men might be 
needed. The men always carried guns, hoping to 
get a shot at a sea bird, or it might be an otter 
or a seal. If they saw "a chance" they forgot all 
about time, their destination, and their passenger; 
in their eagerness for sport they were oblivious to 
everything else. Once we lost the best part of an 
hour chasing an otter, and then did not get him 
after all. How much depends upon the viewpoint ! 
This, from the fisherman's way of looking at it, 
was wisdom, making the most of an opportunity; 
from the missionary's, it might be considered the 
opposite, wasting time, except in the case of him — 

and I have seen and known him — who possessed 

55 



The Skipper Parson 



the instincts of a "sporting parson." Sailing in 
these open boats in the fall of the year, one could 
not avoid suffering severely from cold. He might 
ply an oar for warmth, as I have done for five 
consecutive hours, and yet his feet would be cold. 
These trips were not by any means all unenjoyable. 
In the summer when sailing in the calm, transparent 
waters of the Arm, I would lie at the stern enjoying 
the scenery or the reading of late English papers; 
and with a good boat and a good crew, wearing a 
"sou'wester" and a suit of oil clothes, I always en- 
joyed being out on a stormy sea — delighting in the 
wild music of the breakers, the wind that "bends the 
gallant mast," and the flying spray, and watching 
the wonderful evolutions of the sea bird, 

"White bird of the tempest — ah ! beautiful thing, 
With the bosom of snow and the motionless wing." 

Where my brave fishermen friends led I was 
glad to follow. Once, as I well remember, four or 
five times in succession, on different days, the at- 
tempt was made by six stalwart fishermen, man- 
ning a "cod-seine skiff," to take me from Deer Har- 
bor, but each time an angry sea forced us to put 
back until the elements were favorable, when we 
succeeded at last. The missionary in Newfoundland 
is always a practiced pedestrian, sometimes an ac- 
complished sailor, and in one or two instances I 
have known him to be the proud owner of a yacht. 

In my first year of missionary life, my knowledge 

of many things was dearly bought. Not until the 

56 



The Skipper Parson 



winter was fully upon us, and the snow lay deep on 
the ground, was I reminded that there were such 
things in the world as snowshoes. When I had 
been more than once baffled in laborious attempts 
to forge my way through the snow, then only my 
friends mentioned snowshoes, saying, "If you had 
a pair of 'rackets,' now, you would go over the snow 
like a partridge." But I soon found out it was one 
thing to get snowshoes and quite another to know 
how to use them. Strangely, my friends said noth- 
ing about this essential matter, and I could not have 
learned from example, for mine were the only pair 
I had seen. There was a clumsy imitation in use, 
made of wood, called "pot-covers," which they wore 
with long boots. These I had tried before and 
found positively useless. 

A memorable Saturday morning dawned. On 
that day I had to go from Northern Bight to Lee 
Bight, a distance of about five miles, through the 
woods. The snow had freshly fallen and lay deep 
upon the ground; but what did I care, being the 
proud possessor of a beautiful Indian-made pair of 
rackets? Would I not, as they said, "go over the 
snow like a partridge"? O, it is laughable; but it 
was no joke to me at the time. Just think of it! 
Wearing long leather boots, I took my first lesson 
in walking with the light and graceful snowshoe. 
The rest may be imagined. The snow "caked up" 
on the heel of my boot, my feet slipped from their 
position, and down I sank in the snow. Adjusting 

them again I made a fresh effort ; but with my im- 

57 



The Skipper Parson 



possible footgear the slight and elegant snowshoe 
seemed a hindrance, not a help. Immediately I 
slipped, and was plunged head first into the snow. 
This was repeated until, disgusted with snowshoes, 
I took them off. Reduced now to the worst com- 
bination in the world, 'main strength and stupid- 
ness," I beat my way through the deep snow. It 
was laborious work, and I felt at times as if my heart 
were coming out of me. My strength almost gone, 
I was revived in a remarkable way by the singing 
of a bird in a tree close by. I thanked the kindly 
Providence that sent that wee songster as a messen- 
ger of good cheer to me. It was after dark when 
I reached Mrs. Adey's in Lee Bight, who ministered 
to my wants with the tender care of a mother. When 
I narrated this experience to my friends, they smil- 
ingly said, "Why, you need a pair of moccasins." 
I am afraid my tone was quite savage when I re- 
plied, "Why didn't you tell me that before?" I 
suppose I was expected to know. If I had been a 
Canadian, I might have known, but being a Brit- 
isher, just out, too, I didn't. Afterward when I 
learned to use snowshoes aright, I deliglited in the 
delicious exercise of striking out on a sea of track- 
less snow. 

The isolation of Random was terrible. Let the 
reader put himself in my position and he will under- 
stand my feelings. From the city of Manchester, 
England, I found myself suddenly translated to the 
backwoods of Newfoundland. At home we were 

accustomed to hear the postman's knock every day, 

58 



The Skipper Parson 



perhaps two or three times; here we had a mail — 
once a month! A stranger was such a rarity that 
the story is told, which is probable enough, that one 
day, as a railway surveyor passed by, a girl who 
saw him from a cottage window, excited beyond 
measure, called out: "O, mother, who is that man? 
He doesn't belong to this world." 

My first Christmas Day I spent in a little 
harbor called St. Jones. My out-of-the-worldness 
seemed complete when I made the discovery, while 
dining off salt fish and potatoes, that this was the 
great festival of the Christian world. It will not 
seem strange that the imaginations that haunted 
me the rest of the day were of family groups, 
merry parties, chiming bells, and worshiping 
throngs. This leads me to revert to my second 
Christmas, which was much more happily spent. 
It was in the Shoal Harbor parsonage, to which 
the Rev. Jesse Heyfield and his gracious lady, in 
the succession of the Methodist itinerancy, had come 
to reside. I had been kindly invited and was roy- 
ally treated. Everything was made as homelike as 
possible, even to decorations and Christmas tree. 
To crown all, the English mail arrived that very 
morning, and I was made the happy recipient of 
letters, cards, and papers. I suppose it was the 
hunger for such things that produced that peculiar 
relish and enjoyment I remember so well. 

But the world moves, and even Newfound- 
land. The railroad to-day runs through Northern 

Bight, and, as we all know, the iron horse is a 

59 



The Skipper Parson 



great revolutionizer and civilizer, so that even to 
the "livyers" (to use a colloquialism common in 
Newfoundland) of the present time the monthly 
mail of twenty-four years ago must seem a strange 
anomaly. 

The circuit cruiser had to be prepared for a nor'- 
easter occasionally. Things would run smoothly 
for a time, and then quite unexpectedly would come 
the "hard blow," the "close shave." 

There came a day when I wanted to get from 
Fox Harbor to the other side of the Arm. I thought 
myself fortunate when I heard that there was a 
schooner bound for Hatchett Cove. It proved a 
wretched little boat, scarcely seaworthy. A family, 
to be conveyed to the other side with the intention 
of spending the winter in the forest primeval, was 
going aboard when I arrived at the wharf. Besides 
the father and mother and children, there were hens, 
a pig, etc. They all, poor creatures, except the 
father, who worked with the crew, found a refuge 
in the hold. The morning was bitterly cold. The 
wind was unfavorable, and it was blowing almost 
a gale. Before the force of the blast ropes broke 
several times, and the sails lay useless at the play of 
the wind. Such breakages were followed by shout- 
ings and scrimmages as the men struggled to repair 
damages with material no better than that which 
had yielded. The lee side of the craft was mostly 
under water. For five long hours I stood before 
the mast shivering with cold; I hardly remember 

more suffering crowded into an equal space of time. 

60 



The Skipper Parson 



How I pitied the crying children and screaming 
women below, who must more than once have 
thought their last hour had come. Glad were we 
all indeed to exchange the crazy craft for solid earth. 
After such episodes as this I have sympathized with 
the man — surely not a Newfoundlander — who said, 
"Praise the sea, but keep on land." 

Inglewood Forest was a small and lonely clearing 
on the shore of the Northwest Arm. Two houses, 
a small sawmill, and six persons, young and old, 
comprised all there was of the place. The Forest 
was a hard place to reach, and it proved harder 
still to get away from. Your missionary in "cruis- 
ing round" never passed the smallest place if it was 
at all accessible ; and in the end, one way or another, 
this was nearly always done. In the winter, some- 
times, it was easy enough to get to the Forest; but 
to get away — "ay, there's the rub." I had two 
experiences which will make me long remember 
Inglewood Forest. 

On the first occasion I arrived comfortably 
enough by boat. During my stay drift ice came in, 
prohibiting my return by water, without being solid 
and compact enough to allow our using it as a 
bridge. When the time for departure was overpast, 
as there was no promise of a change, we had to 
seek another way of exit. My host proposed pilot- 
ing me along the frozen shore. The rocks were 
covered with ice, and the shore was bespread with 
large pans of ice, high and dry — in local phraseol- 
ogy, "balacadas." We were compelled to hug the 



The Skipper Parson 



shore closely or sink in the slob. We had each a 
stick spiked at the end to support us in slippery 
places and to help us to climb. But implements were 
of little use, and we had to revert to the custom — 
as some imagine — of our rude progenitors in pre- 
historic ages, and come right down on all fours. 
There was nothing else for it; and on hands and 
knees a good part of the way was gone over. Every 
now and again to avoid an impassable place we had 
to scale the heights. Then we slid down on the 
other side, using a friendly stump or shrub to check 
our too rapid descent. Thus, climbing and clam- 
bering over ice-caked rocks, jumping from icepan 
to icepan, anon among the trees on the heights 
above and the "balacadas" on the icebound shore, 
we slowly and painfully traversed the seven miles 
to Lee Bight. I was sore in every muscle, and my 
clothes were almost innocent of buttons when we 
arrived at Mrs. Adey's. 

Again, the same winter, I got into a similar fix 
at the Forest. We managed this time to reach 
it from St. Jones, there being fortunately a good 
"slide path." When the time for departure came, 
my host advised me to make direct for North- 
ern Bight, through the woods and open country. 
His theories seemed excellent, as he smoked his 
pipe and elaborated them with many words and 
due emphasis, and doubtless they were conceived 
only in kindness; yet when the time came to 
put them into practice they dissolved into thin 

air. He reasoned that, while the snow was deep 

62 



The Skipper Parson 



in the woods, by the help of "pot-covers," which 
would be provided (this was prior to the episode 
with rackets previously described), that difficulty 
would be surmounted, and once in the open country 
it would be plain sailing, the snow being hardened 
by the frost so as to make walking easy; he would 
send his man with me as guide, and in four or five 
hours we would be in Northern Bight. 

With such a pleasant prospect before us, Dick 
(my guide) and I set off at seven in the morning. 
We soon got disgusted with the "pot-covers," and 
left them hanging on a tree. The snow in the 
woods was light but deep. Weary hours sped, and 
the sun had passed his meridian glory ere we saw 
the open country. Our few cakes had been long 
since eaten, and we were desperately hungry ; in lieu 
of water we moistened our lips with snow. We 
stretched ourselves for a few moments on the snow. 
How beautiful it looked! How delightful it felt! 
But we tore ourselves from its seductive embrace, 
an inner voice saying, "Up ! On !" 

And there at last was the open country, which we 
had almost despaired of ever seeing: a broad ex- 
panse of glistening snow, which we had been made 
to believe would be as marble to our feet. Alas 
for the fatuity of human hope ! 

There was a crust on the snow which only de- 
ceived ; it yielded at every step. The snow was not 
deep, but each step meant a jerk, making locomo- 
tion torturous. That is all this "brave country" 
brought us. The day was still beautiful, cold, and 



The Skipper Parson 



clear. Around us was a snowy desert; no sign of 
life, not even the chirp of a bird, or the bark of a 
wolf ; not even a far-off streak of smoke to encourage 
poor wayfarers. 

My companion, Dick, was the "handy man" about 
the place, and he served his master with even abject 
faithfulness. He might be considered a trifle simple, 
but he was not quite devoid of grit and gumption, as 
a time like this showed. Dick was a loquacious and 
pleasant companion until his temper was ruffled; 
then, look out! The short winter day was begin- 
ning to close when Dick turned suddenly, and gave 
vent to his wrath. He pronounced imprecations 
upon his master for sending him on this journey; 
he blamed himself for coming, and he did not spare 
me, whom he regarded as at the bottom of his trou- 
ble. As the day was so far spent, it is not sur- 
prising that he thought our chances were small. 
After cooling off a bit, he had a proposal — that he 
should push on ahead in hope of finding his way 
out before dark, and I could follow in his tracks. 
I thought the suggestion sensible, and said, "Go 
on." He was able to get along much faster than 
I, and soon he was out of sight. Wearily I followed 
in his track. By the time I reached the edge of 
the woods, the sun, which delays for no belated trav- 
eler, had reddened the western sky with glory — his 
good-night to our hemisphere — and left us to moon 
and stars. Going a few yards farther, I was sur- 
prised and pleased to come up with my guide. The 
moment I saw him I knew danger was passed. He 

64 



st. John's (See page 24) 
weighing fish (See page 68) 



The Skipper Parson 



was leaning against a tree smoking his pipe with 
a careless air. 

Said he, "We're all right now, sir. Here's an 
old slide-path." My heart went out in the words, 
"Well done, Dick." 

By nine o'clock I was safely under the roof of 

worthy Matthias Martin. After a good supper and 

a hot bath, thanking God who careth for us, I lay 

down with a will to sleep. 

65 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER VI 
Customs and Characterizations 

"To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art; 
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway." 

— Goldsmith. 

A pretty custom pertained very generally 
throughout the island, and was conspicuously evi- 
dent in Trinity. Nearly every family had a flagstaff 
on its grounds, and flags were hoisted on national, 
local, or family celebrations. On a public holiday, 
every flag would be flying, making a brave and 
imposing scene. I question if, outside of New- 
foundland, there is a place to be found of equal size 
that, at a moment's notice, could make such a show 
of bunting as Trinity. Various were the uses of 
flags. They were called into requisition to announce 
to the world such important events as a marriage, 
a birth, the arrival of a friend, and the like. Neigh- 
bors rejoiced with rejoicing friends. And when a 
death and funeral occurred, many flags at half-mast 
were the silent but eloquent witnesses of a sympathy 
sincere and general. 

There was, also, a more striking and original use 
of the flag. The churches appropriated it, so that 

when one was without a bell it simply substituted a 

66 



The Skipper Parson^ 



flag*, and a splendid substitute it made. This is how 
they work it. The flagstaff, which is a high one, 
stands in a conspicuous place near the church, and 
the flag can be seen by all. An hour before the 
service the flag is hoisted full mast ; a quarter of an 
hour before the appointed time it is put half-mast; 
and as the minister enters the church it is taken 
down altogether. This excellent plan works well, 
and insures punctuality. Here I am reminded of 
a still more novel method of regulating church serv- 
ices adopted and carried out by Brother Blundell 
in St. Jones, who always made the minister his 
honored guest. He had a horn which he blew with 
such vigor that its reverberations echoed and re- 
echoed among the hills. The first strong blast was 
a signal to intending worshipers an hour in advance. 
The second and last was given as the minister was 
about to leave his house for the church. Immedi- 
ately it would appear as if the houses were all being 
emptied, and all the people in the Harbor were on 
their way to worship God in their neat little sanc- 
tuary. 

When we come to speak of matters relating to 
the table we are reminded of the limited meaning 
given to the word "fish," which is used not in a 
generic but a specific sense. When the Newfound- 
lander speaks of fish he means codfish. Cod is king. 
No other of the denizens of the deep has a right to 
the title fish (salmon alone excepted), but is merely 
a "haddock" or a "herring." There are various 

appetizing ways of cooking fish, but an old fisher- 

67 



The Skipper Parson 



man will affirm that fish tastes best when, immedi- 
ately after being caught, it is cooked and eaten at 
sea. I remember while cruising in a schooner one 
beautiful summer morning some fish were caught 
and put in the pot to boil. At dinner they were 
served with pork fat and potatoes. It was then I 
first heard my fishermen friends declare that those 
who had only eaten fish ashore did not know the 
genuine taste. And unmistakably it was good; but 
it is only fair to own that we had the best sauce — 
hunger. 

Of course tea was served also, for no meal in 
Terra Nova would be complete without "a cup o' 
tea." If one were asked to name the favorite bev- 
erage of Newfoundland, there could only be one 
reply— tea. It is used morning, noon, and night 
— ay, and between times, too, by poor and rich 
alike. 

"Hamburg bread," or hard biscuit (not to be 
confounded with pilot or sailor biscuit as popularly 
known, being thick and cake-like in shape and ex- 
traordinarily hard), is in constant use on the vessels 
and in the houses of the fishermen. On a jour- 
ney I always carried one or two of these biscuits. 
When hungry I would soak one in a brook, and 
found in it a sustaining meal. 

A popular dish in Newfoundland is "brewis," 

pronounced broose. In the north it was always the 

Sunday breakfast of the fishermen. Brewis is made 

from Hamburg bread, boiled and served with pork 

fat or butter, and often accompanied with salt fish. 

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The Skipper Parson 



This is a wholesome dish, and helps to nourish a 
strong and hardy race. 

The noble Newfoundland dog is a familiar object 
in all civilized countries. Burns sketches him well : 

"The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, 
Was keepit for his honor's pleasure: 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Showed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride — nae pride had he." 

Though this splendid animal derived its name 
from Newfoundland its origin is obscure, and au- 
thorities assert: "It is doubtful whether the aborig- 
ines possessed the dog at all; and it is highly im- 
probable that it is indigenous. Some happy crossing 
of breeds may have produced it here !" 

Most boys and girls, probably, when they think 
of Newfoundland think simultaneously of the New- 
foundland dog, and imagine that the breed abounds 
there; but we must look elsewhere for the finest 
specimens to-day. Occasionally in Terra Nova we 
may find a good specimen of this dog owned by 
some gentleman, and "keepit for his honor's pleas- 
ure," but the members of the canine species 
abounding in Newfoundland are a mongrel race. 
They are generally used by the fishermen to assist 
in hauling wood in winter time. One of the com- 
monest sights, and not a very pleasing one, in 



The Skipper Parson 



localities of my acquaintance was this: a man, and 
perhaps a couple of dogs, dragging a sled-load of 
wood over the snow. These dogs are often dan- 
gerous brutes. They will lurk under the fishermen's 
houses, which rest merely on "shores," and thus 
offer a convenient refuge, or in the porch, ready to 
attack a stranger who approaches incautiously. 
Many an ugly scrimmage I have had with these 
wolfish brutes. 

Annoyance came sometimes in other ways. When 
staying in Deer Harbor I was awakened by the loud 
barking of a great dog, right underneath my room. 
His deep-mouthed bay seemed to set all the dogs 
in the Harbor barking in response. They kept up 
this sport until daylight, when welcome silence at 
last reigned, and my long-enforced vigil ended in 
"sleep, that knits up the raveled sleeve of care. ,, 
These dogs are sometimes a pest to the people them- 
selves, being great sheep destroyers. The people have 
"local option" in the matter, the majority deciding, 
between sheep and dogs, which must go under. 
These facts, like many others, are not beautiful. 
Actual facts differ from dreams, prose from poetry. 
We are sorry if we have dissipated a bright fancy, 
yet I think we shall love none the less our noble 
friend — the Newfoundland dog. 

The system of education obtaining is denomina- 
tional. P. T. McGrath, of St. John's, says : "It is 
in the matter of scholastic progress the colony is 
behindhand. Its isolation, its hundreds of harbors 

with too few children to make a public school pos- 

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The Skipper Parson 



sible, and the disabilities consequent on inadequate 
funds, have served to leave us lagging in the race." 
While indorsing the truth of this statement, I would 
remark that, as far as my observation went, the 
small settlements often supported a school if only 
for a few months in the year, and at least a knowl- 
edge of reading and writing and a little arithmetic 
was acquired; while in the larger centers, particu- 
larly St. John's, grammar schools and colleges were 
well equipped, from which numbers each year passed 
the London University matriculation examination. 
The Bible has a prominent place in the day school, 
and religious teaching is shaping the character of 
the youth. The denominational system has grave 
drawbacks, but under existing circumstances it seems 
the only possible one in Newfoundland, and all 
classes, apparently, are wisely making the best of it. 
No denominational partiality is shown in the work- 
ing of the system ; the claims of minorities are con- 
sidered even to the extent of permitting two schools 
in a place that could only fairly support one. This 
broad-spirited working of the law may be deemed 
extravagant and inefficient, but this much may be 
said in its favor : it precludes the possibility of reli- 
gious strife. 

The people of Newfoundland are naturally indus- 
trious. They are not, however, as provident and 
independent as one might wish, and if we are cor- 
rect in this estimate we are sure that the greatest 
cause is the "credit system," by which a large por- 
tion of the population have been all their lives in 

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The Skipper Parson 



debt, with no better prospect for the future. A new 
era is dawning; Religion, and her handmaid Edu- 
cation, are working in the people a noble discontent, 
following which there cannot fail to be a sure, 
if silent, revolution. 

Among the fishing population a share of work 
falls on the women. A man will often take with 
him his wife and children to distant and stormy 
Labrador for the season's fishing, and frequently 
into the woods, living in a "tilt," while he engages 
in a little winter's lumbering. When the fish are 
landed fresh from the great deeps, the women and 
girls take their part in curing operations. The po- 
tato or cabbage patch, the family garden, when 
made by the men, is often their special care. The 
spinning wheel is frequently seen in their kitchens, 
and their deft fingers convert the fleecy wool into 
mitts and undergarments. On the whole, women 
do not appear to work harder than in other coun- 
tries. Like their brothers, they are gifted with a 
bright and happy temperament. At work in the 
home or in the fields, you will hear their cheerful 
voices raised in song ; and the only songs they know 
are the best — "the songs of Zion." The grand old 
hymns of Wesley and Watts, to the grand old tunes, 
in the communities in which I lived, were known 
by young and old, and sung everywhere. 

In Newfoundland "the tilt," to which allusion has 
been made, answers to the log cabin in other parts 
of America. As a temporary home some very re- 
spectable families will winter in these tilts in the 

72 



The Skipper Parson 



woods, making them clean and comfortable, though 
they themselves are necessarily "cabined, cribbed, 
confined." It is an unpleasant truth, however, that 
there are others, though few, who never seem to 
aspire to an abode better than a "tilt." Entering at 
the low door, one is as likely as not to stumble over 
the pig in the porch, to find frightened hens making 
desperate efforts to escape over his head, and, when 
he gains the "living room," to feel his eyes smarting 
from the smoke of green sticks smoldering on the 
open fireplace. In common with Newfoundland, the 
greatest nations have their housing problem, their 
ever present poor problem. 

The Newfoundlander "turns his hand" success- 
fully to several different occupations. Of course, as 
a fisherman he is a past master, but he makes a good 
second at such diverse crafts as house-carpentering, 
shipbuilding, cobbling, lumbering, etc. Necessity 
often compels him to be a jack-of-all-trades, and 
this again has developed a cleverness, a rough-and- 
ready expertness, that stands him in good stead in 
a country where by training there are few skilled 
artisans. 

We have already observed that the people are 
fond of singing. They have a certain pride in this 
regard which is altogether creditable. In public 
worship, participation in the service of praise is con- 
sidered so fitting and the exercise of sacred song is 
felt to be so delightful that a worshiper would not 
only feel unhappy, but rather ashamed to be without 

a hymn book. The ludicrous side of it appeared 

73 



The Skipper Parson 



when a hymn book was handed to and accepted by 
a man who I knew could not read a word. As book 
in hand he joined lustily in the singing — doubtless 
he knew the words by heart — I could scarcely keep 
back a smile, while I honored him for his manly 
pride and love of the services of the sanctuary. 

The typical Newfoundlander is characterized by 
a happy, easy-going manner, with little apparent 
regard for the value of time. The missionary, visit- 
ing from house to house, soon learns this latter 
peculiarity. On rising to leave he will probably 
be reminded in a half-admonitory tone that "time 
is long." In vain he will plead that the Scriptures 
say just the reverse. To them in their isolation, 
"far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife," time 
walks with leaden feet. 

A genial friend used to measure the length of 
my visit by the burning of a log. If I attempted 
to go too soon, as he thought, he would smilingly 
remonstrate, saying, "Why, time is long, sir ; you've 
only burned out one log"; and forthwith putting 
another big stick on the fire, he would good-hu- 
moredly issue the command, "Stay till that is burned 
out." 

They dearly love a chat, and are not easily sat- 
isfied in this regard either. These dear souls look 
upon the missionary as a kind of "central office," 
where they may always apply for news of the doings 
of the world near and far. Hence the oft-repeated 
inquiry, "Anything strange lately, sir?" Certainly 
it was a pleasure to gratify such seekers for knowl- 

74 



The Skipper Parson 



edge. The tedium of many a long, cold, and stormy 
winter's night has been pleasantly relieved as we 
have sat by the stove and narrated to eager listeners, 
in fullest detail, stopping to answer many questions, 
the movements of contending armies in deadly war, 
the outgoings and incomings of Britain's univer- 
sally beloved queen, also descriptions of great cities, 
and accounts of Christian life and work. 

To know the religion of a people a brief visit is 
not enough ; you must get behind the scenes and to 
the heart for that. So every Newfoundlander 
would say who reads the following: "In Ragged 
Harbor some men have fashioned a god of rock 
and tempest and sea's rage — a gigantic, frowning 
shape, throned in a mist, whereunder black waters 
curl and hiss and are cold without end; and 
in the right hand of the shape is a flaming rod 
of chastisement, and on either side of the throne 
sit grim angels, with inkpots and pens, who jot 
down the sins of men, relentlessly spying out their 
innermost hearts; and behind the mist, far back 
in the night, the flames of pain, which are forked 
and writhing and lurid, light up the clouds and form 
an aureole for the shape and provide him with his 
halo." Another, commenting on these awesome 
and gruesome imaginings, writes the strange words : 
"The comedy is furnished by the religion, or rather 
superstition, of this primitive people, whose the- 
ology is fierce and hard and cruel as the tempest- 
battered rocks upon which they so often gasp out 

their poor lives. This also is tragic in its way, 

75 



The Skipper Parson 



for, although you cannot share their terror of the 
vengeful and capricious deity they worship, you 
cannot but be filled with pity for the brave, toil- 
toughened, but benighted souls in whose stern creed 
there is no mention of the brightening and alle- 
viating fact that God is love." A creed in which 
there is no mention of the love of God ! They have 
never heard of it. The gospel has been preached 
in Newfoundland with success, in every part of it. 
They no more derive their theological conceptions 
from the rocks and storms of their native land 
than did the Galilean fishermen from their storm- 
swept lakes. Superstitions, as proved in more priv- 
ileged lands, are hard to die, and they linger here 
where the gospel is known and loved; but in the 
main intelligence, as well as sincerity and genuine- 
ness, characterize the religion of the Newfoundland 
people. 

How beautiful the sight of a harbor in Labrador 
on a summer Sabbath day, as it has often been de- 
scribed to me ! The harbor is crowded with "fore- 
and-afters." On one of the schooners the flag is 
hoisted as a signal for "prayers." Soon the deck is 
crowded with worshipers — sunburnt, weather-beat- 
en men and women, for women are there, too. No 
minister stands before them, but a stalwart son of 
the sea, like themselves, in blue guernsey and long 
leather boots. Simply, directly, the leader gives out 
a hymn, and, after the singing, reads the Word of 
God. His voice is soft and reverent; the refining 

touch of the grace of God is unmistakable in tone 

76 



The Skipper Parson 



and manner. Now there is heard a simple, earnest 
prayer, after which the "sermon book" is produced, 
and the congregation of sea-toilers listen with be- 
coming attention and interest to the reading of the 
words of some noted preacher, great in his simplicity. 
The sermon done, another burst of jubilant praise 
floats afar off to reach the ears of stragglers on sea 
and land. Following this comes a chain of song, 
prayer, and exhortation. One after another, men 
and women, with heaven's light on their sea-bronzed 
faces, tell of temptations and triumphs, and of an 
immortal hope. In all this unique service nothing 
is needed to convince of the presence of Jesus, as 
with the fishermen disciples on Lake Galilee, but 
his visible form only. The rocky harbors of New- 
foundland and Labrador witness many such scenes. 

Original thinking on theological, church, and 
social matters is not uncommon, and often ex- 
pressed in words which are "as goads and nails well 
fastened." For instance, here is a streak of fatal- 
ism. A man is drowned : his shipmates with almost 
stoical resignation will say, "It was to be." To 
argue with them is in vain. They will tell you of 
a case in which two men were swept into the sea, 
one a strong swimmer and the other unable to swim 
at all, and that it was the swimmer who was 
drowned, while the man who could not swim a 
stroke was saved. Then with a look and air of utter 
submission they will repeat words which to them 
mean the end of all argument. "What is to be, will 
be." Or again, there is an example of other-world- 

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The Skipper Parson 



liness. The strenuous man, if perchance he come 
their way, wins no admiration. They cannot under- 
stand pushfulness and ambition. They view him 
with ill-disguised pity, while the judgment they pass 
on him is crystallized in the words, "Too much for 
this world/' And with regard to the social scale, 
a fisherman-philosopher nicely adjusts it to his own 
satisfaction as ranging from workingmen to "no- 
bles," explaining, "The workingmen, they are the 
fishermen; the nobles, they are the lawyers, mem- 
bers, and parsons." Touching the giving of reli- 
gious experience, I always liked the way an honest 
miner often ended his fervid words in prayer 
meeting or class meeting. "These are my present 
feelings," would be his emphatic declaration as he 
resumed his seat. The saying suited the man and 
his utterances, which latter were as fresh and spon- 
taneous as a mountain spring. 

A remarkable hardiness, robust vigor of manhood 
and womanhood, is common among the people of 
Terra Nova. The tint of health adorns the cheeks 
of fair maidens, and a splendid fitness in physical 
make-up causes the eye to linger admiringly on the 
young men. Longevity is often the reward of their 
simple outdoor life. A minister from St. John's 
was taken to see a centenarian, and found him in the 
act of lifting a sack of potatoes. Greatly surprised, 
he remarked, "That's a heavy load for you." "Well, 
sir," replied the rugged centenarian, doffing his hat 
and scratching his head, "I've just been wondering 

how it comes about that I can't lift it as easy as 

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The Skipper Parson 



I used to." Forthwith he raised his load to his 
shoulders, and staggered off, leaving his inter- 
viewers in silent amazement. 

The Newfoundlander is an ardent lover of his 
country. Wherever he may wander, in most in- 
stances he seems restless, until sooner or later he 

returns to his island home. 

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The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER VII 
Seasons of Refreshing 

"Men may die without any opinions, and yet be carried 
into Abraham's bosom; but if we die without love, what will 
knowledge avail? I will not quarrel with you about your 
opinions. Only see that your heart be right with God. I 
am sick of opinions. Give me good and substantial religion, 
a humble, gentle love of God and man." — John Wesley. 

It is useless to argue for or against revivals in 
religion. True revivals are of God, and "by their 
fruits ye shall know them." When we hear of 
"abounding heathenism," "lapsed masses," many 
"holding a form of godliness, but having denied 
the power thereof," "worldly Christians and worldly 
churches," if there be not revival, what, then, will 
there be? — Death. Cold conventionality and stiff 
respectability pray not to be disturbed, asking only 
to be allowed to sleep on ; but the breath of the 
Spirit is the life of the churches and the salvation 
of the nations. 

The work of grace I here recount started at a 
time and in a way no man looked for. Human 
agency was little evident, but divine power im- 
pressed every mind. 

On a certain Sunday, early in my first year in 

Random South, I preached at Lee Bight, intending 

to continue my circuit tour next morning. When 

the day dawned we found that a deep snow had 

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The Skipper Parson 

fallen during the night, and that it was still snowing 
heavily. Consequently my way was effectually 
blocked for that day at least, and it was arranged 
that I should remain and preach in the house of 
my host. From apostolic times to the present God 
has often blessed house-preaching. On that mem- 
orable evening God poured out his spirit on that 
little company, and when we parted we could say 
of a truth that "this one and that one" "was born 
there," but no one imagined that the Paraclete had 
started a revival flame that would sweep the entire 
circuit, and result in the conversion of many pre- 
cious souls. The young converts from Lee Bight 
carried the fire to Northern Bight, and from there 
again it spread to every cove and harbor on the 
circuit, and to places beyond. Almost every convert 
sought to win for Jesus his child, his parent, his 
brother, or sister, or friend. There sprang up im- 
mediately a band of noble Christian workers, par- 
ticularly young men. At Northern Bight for about 
three weeks all but the most necessary work stopped, 
and the people devoted themselves to praise and 
prayer. The church was packed whenever open, 
always twice on each day.. There was no preaching 
needed. "All hands for Christ," the words of one 
of our number who was mighty in appeal, struck 
the right keynote. Though the meeting would last 
for hours, there was never a break in song or prayer. 
I remember on one occasion I pronounced the bene- 
diction twice, and still found the devout congrega- 
tion unwilling to disperse. Passing their houses 

Si 



The Skipper Parson 



at almost any hour of the day, I would hear the 
cheerful strain of some sweet hymn, and see little 
groups gathering for prayer. From the lips of 
children crying "Hosanna" to those of the old man 
gray and bent with the weight of threescore years 
and ten, there was heard the voice of thanksgiving. 
Some who had not been in the house of God for 
years, repenting of foolish and rash vows, were 
found frequenting the sanctuary again. Family 
feuds were healed, and a new spirit of love and zeal 
filled the churches. As a result, ninety-eight per- 
sons were received into the church that year, and 
there were many besides who witnessed for Jesus 
as Master. There was a similar work on the 
adjoining circuit, and revival influences were 
abroad. Some extravagances and disappointments 
necessarily appeared, but the resultant good was 
overwhelmingly great, and with new courage we 
pressed on. 

Let me describe a few incidents and scenes of the 
revival. A sealing schooner from Northern Bight, 
destined for the ice fields, was lying in Fox Harbor, 
the nearest point of anchorage to Trinity Bay and 
the open sea. The skipper was only waiting for 
the first of March, the legal clay of sailing, to hoist 
his sails and bear away in search of coveted seals. 
How often has it happened according to the 
proverb, "Man proposes: God disposes!" So with 
the skipper and crew, God ruled otherwise, intend- 
ing a blessing for them. In all, there were some 

ten or twelve men of reckless and irreligious 

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The Skipper Parson 



character in this little vessel. In God's great 
mercy a wonderful change took place in a short 
time. 

The revival was proceeding at Northern Bight 
when Abraham Martin, a young man, one of the 
ship's crew, was sent back for some tools that had 
been forgotten. Almost immediately he became the 
subject of saving grace, and from the first the 
change in his life and character was complete, such 
as none could dispute. Returning to the ship, he 
stood for his Master, Christ, like a Christian hero 
clothed in the panoply of God. His companions, 
hearing of his conversion, thought they could laugh 
or mock him out of his religion. The whole crew 
were at their evening meal, in a house ashore, when 
he arrived among them. They opened fire upon him 
at once in cruel banter. He endured it for a while ; 
then, standing, he spoke, in effect : "Mates, you all 
know I have been a wicked lad. No one has known 
it as well as myself, and, while pretending to be 
happy, I have been miserable. When I went back 
to No'thern Bight, and saw what God had done for 
many, and heard what he was able and willing to 
do for me, I said, T will give my heart to God;' 
and now, by God's help, I will live and die for 
Jesus." That ended their sport. They felt a new 
respect for their chum, and deep seriousness rested 
on every one. Nor was that all. God had greater 
blessings to bestow. Because the ice blocked their 
way seaward, and continued to do so, with no im- 
mediate promise of a change, the skipper ordered 

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The Skipper Parson 



his men home for the time being. Thus in every 
step we may see the hand of God. In Northern 
Bight they were brought under the saving grace 
of the gospel. 

The skipper and all the crew, with the exception 
of one man, humbled themselves at the cross. I 
spent a long time with the skipper in prayer and 
in urging him to pray, but he was silent. "If you 
cannot say a word, say half a one," was the word 
spoken at random that reached his heart. He did 
pray; and O, how he prayed! He rose from his 
knees praising God; and his next act, though the 
hour was late, was to seek one who had something 
against him, and they were reconciled. When they 
returned to the vessel, prayer meeting and class 
meeting were instituted; I myself had the pleasure 
of conducting a prayer meeting in that little cabin. 
When at last the schooner spread her white wings 
to catch the breezes that bore her northward, their 
friends felt great satisfaction in the assurance that 
the peace and blessing of God went with them. One 
of the crew said, "Our ship before was a floating 
hell; now it's a floating Bethel." 

At the farther extreme of the circuit, Deer Har- 
bor, to which the revival spread, under the preach- 
ing of the Word, a young man was stricken with the 
convicting Spirit. In thrilling and agonizing tones 
he cried, "What must I do to be saved?" All left 
the chapel except two or three praying brethren 
with myself, and one woman — his widowed mother. 

Not until he found "peace through believing" did we 

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The Skipper Parson 



rise from our knees. Then his joy was as great as 
his anguish had been. We were rejoicing together, 
when suddenly he espied the little woman in the far 
corner — his mother. He had not previously been 
aware of her presence, and he literally sprang to- 
ward her, embracing her with the cry of joy, "O, 
mother, won't we have a happy home now ?" There 
was no dry eye in that little company then; nor 
was there a little later when we saw the stalwart 
son and the little woman, she leaning on his arm, 
her care-worn face lit up with a smile of ineffable 
thankfulness, together wending their way home- 
ward. Doubtless her heart kept time to the music 
of the words, "This my son was dead, and is alive 
again; he was lost, and is found." 

There were critics and opponents of the revival, 
as there always are. Let me narrate how one of 
the strongest of them capitulated, and became a 
convert, "sitting, in his right mind, at the feet of 
Jesus." Scene first : I call at this man's house. He 
immediately introduces the subject of the revival, 
scornfully denouncing it, and saying that he can 
prove from Scripture that it is but the sacrifice of 
fools, quoting Eccl. 5. 1, "Keep thy foot when thou 
goest to the house of God, and be more ready to 
hear, than to give the sacrifice of fools." Strange 
proof that! Truth to tell, he based his condemna- 
tion upon mere report; not actual knowledge. Is 
not this a common sin of the critic ? Scene second : 
About a fortnight later I visit the same place and 

conduct a prayer meeting. The congregation is 

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The Skipper Parson 



composed almost entirely of converts, conspicuous 
among whom is our friend the critic. Here, in- 
deed, is a wonder — a miracle of grace. Every eye 
is suffused with tears as he tells of the way God led 
him ; how he was convinced, not by any man's 
words, but by his own son's conversion. Seeing what 
grace had done for his own boy, disbelief and an- 
tagonism gave place to faith and prayer. Now both 
father and son were rejoicing in a conscious salva- 
tion. We praised God, remembering the saying, 
"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou near- 
est the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it 
cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that 
is born of the Spirit." 

Abraham Martin, the young man whose "good 
confession" before his shipmates we have already 
described, lived a truly Christian life and died early 
a triumphant death. As I boarded at his father's 
house, I had opportunity for the closest observation. 
His life was nurtured by prayer. Often in the mid- 
dle of the day, when all was quiet, he would leave 
his work and retire to his room for prayer. Sitting 
in my study, I could hear his voice in earnest prayer 
and supplication broken with sobs. He was one 
of a number early called home to God, whose was 
"the victory that overcometh the world, even our 
faith," all the fruit of the revival. 

"There all the ship's company meet, 

Who sailed with the Saviour beneath; 
With shouting each other they greet, 
And triumph o'er trouble and death; 
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The Skipper Parson 

The voyage of life's at an end, 

The mortal affliction is past ; 
The age that in heaven they spend, 

Forever and ever shall last." 

With extraordinarily large circuits, stupendous 
difficulties of travel, and consequently rather infre- 
quent though regular visits of the missionary to the 
more distant settlements, the wonder may be how 
the Methodist Church in Newfoundland has won 
her present position and sustains her work. Early 
in its history Methodism was providentially led to 
utilize the gifts and energies of the laity, both men 
and women, and found in them its arm of strength. 
This applies particularly to Newfoundland, where, 
apart from its devoted lay helpers, Methodism 
could never have attained its present growth. 

First in order of usefulness are lay readers, an 
order not created by act of Conference, but born 
of the necessities of the hour, and taking the place 
of the more Methodistic local preacher. Doubtless, 
as education spreads, out of the lay reader the local 
preacher will be evolved. In the meantime the peo- 
ple hear the best sermons of Moody and Spurgeon, 
and are edified. After these come in order class 
leaders, exhorters, and Sunday school teachers, and 
these faithful laborers, augmenting the work of the 
regular ministry, have made for efficiency and suc- 
cess. It is marvelous how rich the church has been 
in the material out of which workers are made, and 
how many and how willing are those who spend 
time and talents in the church's interest. This de- 

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The Skipper Parson 



lightful feature of Newfoundland Methodism is all 
the more remarkable, remembering that educational 
advantages have in the past been so meager. 

To illustrate what lay help meant in Newfound- 
land we may instance Deer Harbor on my first cir- 
cuit. With sixteen appointments, separated by 
stormy waters and trackless barrens, a monthly visit 
was all that was within the region of the possible. 
There was no other church in Deer Harbor, and 
none but the Methodist minister preached the gospel 
there. The people of this place comprised some 
twenty or thirty families, a community apart, shut 
in and separated by the wild waters of the bay in 
front and the dreary land wastes in the rear. Un- 
der these circumstances, they would have suffered a 
system of feast and fast in spiritual diet — feast dur- 
ing the minister's presence, fast during the greater 
period of his absence — but for earnest helpers in 
the gospel among the people themselves. There 
was, first of all, Brother King, a fisherman, who 
acted as schoolmaster (when there was a school), 
and to whom the people looked up as "a very larned 
man." He was also wise and pious. This man 
stood in the minister's place, reading sermons reg- 
ularly on Sundays, and, with other like-spirited 
men and women, keeping all the machinery of the 
church in full operation. 

This order of things was duplicated in every other 

place on the circuit. From year's end to year's end, 

the work never ceased. The minister was not the 

sole prop and stay of the churches, but the overseer 

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of many workers. Many of these lay brethren were 
marvelously gifted in exhortation and prayer. No 
one could listen to them without magnifying the 
grace of God, which made humble men and women 
mighty witnesses for the truth. Need we wonder at 
the remarkable increase in church membership from 
4,829 in 1873 to 11,665 m i 9°3j which is in thirty 
years more than a hundred and twenty-five per cent, 
and this while the increase in the population has 
been very slight? 

The ministers of the church have been gifted and 
devoted men. They have preached not only in the 
towns and settlements, but in love for souls have 
reached out to distant Labrador, 1 the remotest habi- 
tations and the islands lying off the coast ; but with- 
out the aid of consecrated lay workers, and a polity 
of which Methodists are justly proud, much of their 
labor would have been lost. As it is, in Terra Nova 
Methodism lives and grows, having found the way 
to the hearts of the people whose lives of loneliness 
and deprivation make them more than ordinarily 
appreciative of the means of grace. 

1 The Methodist Conference of Newfoundland sustains on Labrador two 
missionaries, at Hamilton Inlet and Red Bay; and sends besides, during 
the summer months, a young man to minister to the fishing fleet. 

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CHAPTER VIII 
Lights and Shadows 

"Feeling is deep and still; and the word that floats on the 
surface 

Is as the tossing buoy that betrays where the anchor is 
hidden." — Longfellow. 

In traveling in out-of-the-way places, one often 
comes across queer people and queer ideas. Many 
a hearty laugh I have enjoyed at the expense of my 
unconsciously amusing friends. The following are 
a few examples out of many a humorous situation : 

Innocently mentioning the subject of confedera- 
tion to a man, he rose in an angry way and said: 
"If the Canadians come down here to take our coun- 
try I'll get down my 'swiling gun/ and we'll go 
out and meet 'em." 

"Why?" I asked, in a pacific tone. . 

"Because they will tax every pane of glass, and 
make us all go as soldiers." 

Doubtless before the last link is welded to the 
chain that will round off the confederation of British 
possessions in North America, such as he will have 
to be taken into account. 

Shortly after the publication of the Revised Ver- 
sion of the New Testament Scriptures, when the 
event was exciting the keenest interest throughout 

the civilized world, I found myself explaining to a 

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friend at considerable length, and with some en- 
thusiasm, the merits of the new version. My au- 
ditor listened in dead silence until I finished, when, 
with an air of supreme wisdom, he staggered me 
by saying : "O, it's nothing but another dodge of the 
government to get money out of the poor man." 
That was a pronouncement admitting of no reply. 
So we waste our eloquence when we sail over peo- 
ple's heads. 

A Halifax book agent whom I came across one 
day told me an experience of his that sent me on my 
way laughing. Among the good and wholesome 
books he carried was a cookery book. In the towns 
and the more populous places he found a ready sale 
for it, but in the smaller and more isolated settle- 
ments he could make no sales. The fisher wives to 
whom he presented the book and dilated upon its 
merits were much offended, and one with warmth 
of wounded pride asked him, "Have you come all 
the way from Halifax thinking we don't know how 
to cook?" My friend naively admitted the "soft 
impeachment," and parried the question by his good 
humor. A woman's tears sometimes are her best 
defense, a man's is often a good-natured laugh. 

Most Newfoundland fishermen have lugubrious 
stories to tell of the "spirits" they have seen. Their 
habit of attributing anything out of the ordinary 
to ghostly influences proved fearfully disastrous in 
one case I remember. In the fall of the year, one 
stormy night, also dark and cold, a small schooner 

was capsized by a fierce and sudden squall in North- 

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west Arm Random. There were women as well 
as men on board, and most of them succeeded in 
holding on to the upturned boat. For several hours, 
probably, they clung to the boat, and their cries were 
heard ashore. But, sad to say, those who heard 
them imagined them to be the voices of spirits, ac- 
cording to the superstition that near the place where 
a man had been drowned voices would often be 
heard in the night. The unfortunate people must 
have held on until the cold compelled them to release 
their grasp, and then one by one sank to rise no 
more. In the morning the hull of the upturned 
vessel, lying off the shore, mutely told its sorrowful 
tale, and brought heart-breaking grief to people 
whose fault was not lack of courage or kindness 
of heart, but weak and childish superstition. 

One frequently met in Newfoundland characters 
worthy of the ablest pen. My mind reverts to an 
old man of an original type. He knew nothing 
about the three R's — reading, 'riting, 'rithmetic — 
and yet, by natural ability, he raised himself and a 
large family to a position of comfort. Independent 
of the knowledge of the schools, he had his own 
way of reckoning, and could manage a business or 
build a vessel with any man in those parts. He was 
self-contained on religion, as on other subjects; but 
that he had a kind heart and the manliness that 
owns a fault the following story will show. It was 
an incident of his seal-hunting days which one day, 
when more communicative than usual, he narrated 

to me. The fine old man spoke with trembling emo- 

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tion, for it pained him to recall a regrettable act. 
He said: 

"One spring, at the ice, our craft ran short of 
grub. We got down so low that starvation looked us 
in the face. I had in my pocket one biscuit, which 
I was hiding away against the worst, when a half- 
famished comrade came to me, and begged me for 
the love of God to give him a bit of biscuit. But," 
continued the old man as the tears stood in his eyes, 
"I sent the poor fellow away with a denial, saying, 
*I haven't got any.' What a punishment I got! 
Would you believe it, sir? About half an hour 
later he came looking for me with joy shining in 
his face. I saw at a glance the reason of his glad- 
ness — he held a biscuit in his hand. About the rest 
of it I was stupid, and did not see why he came 
back to me, until, breaking the biscuit in two, he 
offered me half. He came eagerly, noble fellow, to 
share his bread and his joy with me. It was more 
than I could bear, and I was glad to get away. 
He did not know that all the time, even when I 
refused him, I had been hiding a biscuit in my 
pocket, but I knew it, and I despised myself. He 
heaped coals of fire on my head — that he did, sir." 

As I listened I felt that in a heart like his, so 
disgusted with a meanness on his own part, so gen- 
erously cherishing in memory the magnanimity of 
another, there could be no seated wrong, though 
there had been fault of which he confessed his 
shame. Alas! the memories of unworthy deeds— 
we all know something about them! How those 

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memories haunt us like grim specters from the land 
of shadows and death ! 

In the summer of 1882 I had a pleasant trip vis- 
iting most of the little towns in Conception Bay, 
also St. John's. Again the summer of 1883 
forded me an enjoyable change in the more popu- 
lous and progressive parts of the colony; but the 
early autumn of this year found me far away, in 
a Canadian province, amid the solemnities of college 
halls, with learned professors and boisterous stu- 
dents. Contrast, indeed! 

We cannot, however, leave Random so abruptly 
as this. Having described fully my entrance upon 
this mission, I feel inclined to pen a few words 
about my departure. I do this all the more gladly 
as, in contrast to my coming in, my going out 
was characterized by happy incident and circum- 
stance. 

It was the month of June when I took ship from 
Shoal Harbor. The weather was beautifully fine. 
The view from the schooner's deck, as she slowly 
made her way through the placid waters of the 
Northwest Arm, was glorious. We anchored for 
the night off the thickly wooded shore. The night 
was superb, and instead of "turning in" with the 
rest I continued to walk the deck. There rested on 
me the charm and solace of the lovely starlit night 
smiling upon the bosom of waters heaving so softly 
as to delude one into believing they had never 
known commotion and unrest. What in the world 
is so deceiving as the sea in a summer calm? The 

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moment the first streak of dawn became visible in 
the sky, a bird in the adjoining wood began to 
sing. This sweet herald of coming day was 
immediately joined by more and yet more, each ap- 
parently vying with the other in a jubilant song of 
praise. Thus 

"The winged choristers began 
To chirp their matins." 

Ere daylight had fully come the whole wood was 
vocal, and I listened enrapt to as grand an ora- 
torio as mortal ever hears, and all from the throats 
of feathered songsters, nature's musicians. So 
jubilant and happy seemed nature as we weighed 
anchor and sailed away. 

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CHAPTER IX 
Wesleyville 

"Now, brothers, for the icebergs 

Of frozen Labrador, 
Floating spectral in the moonshine 

Along the low, black shore! 
Where, like snow, the gannet's feathers 

On Brador's rocks are shed, 
And the noisy murr are flying, 

Like black scuds, overhead." — Whittier. 

Back again, after two years, to Terra Nova and 
the work I love the best; back again, but to new 
scenes, people, experiences, failures, and triumphs. 

"Wesleyville !" When I found my name standing 
for Wesleyville, I naturally began to inquire some- 
thing about the place. The very name is redolent 
of happy thoughts and memories of that great man 
whose character and career is full of inspiration to 
all preachers. My inquiries elicited little informa- 
tion beyond a summary of curtly expressed facts. 

"It is situated in Bonavista Bay ; is a progressive 
place, and strong Methodistically." I was also told, 
"As a separate circuit, its career has been only for 
the brief space of one year." All this I found to 
be true, but, as always, it was only actual contact 
with the place and people that gave me knowledge 
of the real Wesleyville. 

I reached it so easily and pleasantly in the coastal 
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in 

OQ 

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The Skipper Parson 



steamer that I find nothing worthy of record about 
my trip. The steamer landed me at the island of 
Greenspond, and a ferry conveyed me to the main- 
land and the scene of my future labors. 

About twenty years prior to this the people on 
this shore, being insufficiently supplied with divine 
ordinances, were fast lapsing into sin and irreligion, 
and when a Methodist preacher arrived with his 
evangel of the love of God he found hearts as well 
as ears open to his message. The result is that the 
Methodist Church has the shepherding to-day of 
the great majority of people along the shore; and 
that is why, I suppose, when this place, now the 
headquarters of a new circuit, wanted a name, it 
was christened "Wesley ville." 

The pioneers on the field were the Revs. John S. 
Allen and Joseph Todhunter. Success on a large 
scale did not at once attend their labors, and not 
until the fires of persecution had prepared the way. 
The story is told in the History of Methodism in 
Eastern British America, by the Rev. T. Watson 
Smith, D.D. : "On an evening in February, 1863, 
when young Todhunter and four young friends 
were on their way from a service at an island lying 
three miles distant from Greenspond, they were 
met on the ice by a mob of sixty men, by whom they 
were severely beaten, and driven toward an opening 
in the ice, which they narrowly avoided. The heav- 
iest share of the blows fell on the head and back of 
the young preacher, whose nervous system received 
so severe a shock that he was soon obliged to return 

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to England, where for years he remained unequal to 
the full work of the ministry." 

From the people themselves I have often heard 
this incident as they pointed out the island referred 
to, and I have also heard them tell with glowing 
faces of the spiritual harvests reaped by Todhunter's 
successors. 

Wesleyville and the entire shore covered by the 
circuit, a distance of about thirty miles from end to 
end, supported a considerable population, devoted 
to the fishery in its different branches, particularly 
cod, seal, and lobster. The blessing of Moses upon 
Zebulun and Issachar seems to have descended to 
these people: 

"For they shall suck the abundance of the seas, 
And the hidden treasures of the sand." 

They were a bold, dashing, energetic race, the 
people on this shore, as fine as the country reared. 
Their triumphant dominance of the sea and their 
ability and courage in reaping its harvests were 
attested by their fine houses and equally fine vessels. 
This was the home of a number of sealing captains 
whose names were known all over Newfoundland. 

The circuit stretched along a low, barren shore. 
Here we preached in churches and schoolhouses, 
or school-chapels; there was no house preaching. 
There were five appointments at moderate distances, 
the farthest being eighteen miles away. Traveling- 
was wholly, or almost wholly, done on foot. There 

were two hundred and twenty-six members, and 

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altogether one thousand three hundred persons un- 
der the missionary's spiritual oversight. Every- 
thing was much more advanced than on my former 
circuit. Fine mail steamers visited Greenspond 
fortnightly, and the telegraph office supplied a daily 
budget of the world's news. 

My first experience at Wesleyville was a hard 
test to faith and patience. When I arrived in July I 
found that all the men, excepting, of course, the aged 
or the decrepit, and all the boys, as well as many of 
the maidens, were away on Labrador; and that the 
women and the old men, who had the care not only 
of the homes but of the gardens, were usually busy 
without or within doors from sunrise to sunset. 
During that long summer I was necessarily left 
pretty much to my own resources. How tired to 
heartsickness I grew of everything! This world, 
beautiful as it is, requires the music of the human 
voice to give it charm. How I longed for human 
beings, crowds of them, with their noise and bustle ! 
China, with its teeming millions, would at that time 
have been a happy exchange. I felt very keenly my 
lonely situation, with the absence of calls and claims 
to which I was ordinarily accustomed. Ever since, 
when tempted to complain of hard work, or of too 
much work, the remembrance of that long and silent 
summer has effectually checked the rising murmur. 
Glad was I when returning schooners brought busier 
scenes and many demands. "Work is the holiest 
thing in earth or heaven." I invite my reader to 
accompany me on my first circuit itinerary: 



The Skipper Parson 



Sunday, July 12, 1885. This evening I open my 
commission by preaching my first sermon in Wes- 
leyville. The church — I believe a schoolhouse en- 
larged — is the queerest little building imaginable. 
Its outward appearance is so small that no one 
would imagine that within three hundred people 
could find sitting room. When full, as it usually 
is after September, the scene must be a strange one. 
The pews are close together, and there is a gallery 
all around. The heads of the people in the gallery 
as they stand to sing nearly reach the roof ; and the 
minister standing in the pulpit by stretching out his 
arms can almost touch the gallery on either side. 
Days are spent in opening my trunks and setting- 
things "to rights," and then another Sunday in 
Wesleyville. 

On Friday, the twenty-sixth, we set off on our 

cruise. The morning is fine. We have not the 

friendly aid of a horse — a great desideratum, but 

not to be enjoyed by us here. Having confidence 

in our pedestrian qualities we start quite cheerily. 

Our equipment is simple enough — a small satchel, 

or handbag, a light overcoat, and a stout stick. 

The earth is soft and spongy, making walking 

somewhat laborious. Skirting the road to the right 

is the ever restless and beautiful sea — some islands 

here, a sail yonder, and a steamer, known by her 

smoke, in the distant horizon. The general tame- 

ness of the prospect is broken here and there by 

ponds and brooks, banked by high rocks and hardy 

trees whose roots find mother earth through cracks 

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The Skipper Parson 



and crevices. A rich profusion of wild flowers and 
an abundance of wild berries are pleasing features. 
We see immense rocks, embedded in the earth, lying* 
in all variety of positions, as if borne by some awful 
force of nature, and the reflection is prompted that 
in the distant past the shore was swept by the waters 
of the sea. We pass a few graves, marked by a 
mound or plain wooden fencing, pathetic in their 
poverty and loneliness. A mile and a half's walk 
brings us to Pound Cove. We visit three or four 
families, reading and praying with each, and then 
continue our journey. 

The next group of houses is a mile or two farther, 
and is known as Fox Cove. We call at the first 
house, and witness a remarkable case of affliction, 
a man and his wife who have both been sick and 
bedridden for many years. They are supported by 
kind friends and relatives, and are perfectly re- 
signed and cheerful. We were reminded of Brother 
Kean, whom we had seen in Norton's Cove, adjoin- 
ing Wesleyville, who had not been out of bed for 
fifteen and a half years, and yet was always happy. 
His affliction was the result of privation and expos- 
ure on the ice fields. Such as these are worthy to 
be called monuments of the grace of God. At the 
next house we are glad to make a humble meal of 
tea, bread, and fish. We visit a few more houses 
and press on to Inner Islands, where we purpose 
spending Sunday. In order to reach it we have to 
cross two sheets of water, both narrow. There are 
a number of small islands here in close proximity. 

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The Skipper Parson 



Mrs. Barber receives us most kindly, and her hus- 
band is a good second in genial hospitality, soon 
showing his gift of pawky humor, which brightens 
things up wonderfully. This worthy old couple 
have their sons around them, occupying large, well- 
built houses like their own. 

Saturday. The day was spent in visiting from 
house to house. A little boy was drowned here 
to-day. It is pitiable to see the parents lamenting 
over their dead child. 

Sunday. I preach three times in the little school- 
chapel. 

Monday. I walk about six miles to Cape Island. 
The impression first made, confirmed by all we see, 
is that the people here live very poor and hard lives. 
The place is full of dogs, savage brutes some of 
them. My host is evidently possessed of a warm 
heart. His rugged physique and brusque, broken 
speech recall the bowlders on the shores of his native 
land. Like most of his countrymen, he is all alive 
for news, ready any hour for a "talk." The little, 
roughly built church in which I preach to a crowded 
congregation stands on the rocks at the northerly 
extremity of the island, so that while worshiping 
we hear the waves dashing around us. Looking 
above uncongenial surroundings, I try to do my 
duty both in preaching and visiting the people. 

Tuesday. Early this morning a man came for 

me in a boat to return to Pound Cove to bury a 

woman. At the funeral there were gathered some 

thirty or forty persons, and I preached in the open 

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air on "What is your life ?" By nightfall we reached 
Cape Cove, about a mile north of Cape Island, hav- 
ing walked about six miles. Cape Cove is the har- 
bor, though an unsafe one, of which Cape Freels 
is the bold headland. We are told that this is the 
roughest part of Newfoundland's stormy coast ; that 
sometimes it appears as if the whole Atlantic were 
rolling in. As soon as our eyes fall on Mrs. Hann, 
who welcomes us to her home with winning cour- 
tesy, we know her to be "a mother in Israel" indeed. 
In less than half an hour we are sitting in the little 
parlor with an inviting meal spread before us. They 
are poor people, but make up in kindness what they 
lack in wealth. 

I preach in the evening to a congregation of about 
a dozen, all women, the men not having returned 
from "the fishing grounds." A nice, clean, com- 
fortable bed is allotted to me in a little attic, and I 
realize that "the sleep of a laboring man is sweet." 

Wednesday. There lies before us an eight-mile 

tramp to Seal Cove. The scenery is quite changed. 

Here in Cape Cove is a fine sandy beach ; yonder is 

waving grass ; the earth no longer reminds us of the 

marsh in its springiness, but is hard beneath our 

feet. There is no cut road, and we make our way 

across the highlands overlooking the wide expanse 

of sea. We stop to eat the delicious berry called 

the "bakeapple," growing in such abundance at our 

feet, or to admire the enchanting seaview. We 

stand a moment to enjoy a new prospect as it opens 

up, or some wonderful formation among the rocks. 

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The Skipper Parson 



But here is something which completely absorbs our 
attention, throwing us at once into a reverie — the 
keel and gaping ribs of a once gallant ship, still 
firmly wedged between the rocks where she met a 
cruel doom, battered still by the pitiless waves, 
plainly never to be satisfied until they have trium- 
phantly destroyed even these poor relics of an honor- 
able past. This is a spectacle almost human in its 
pathos. What a tale those weather-beaten timbers 
could unfold, of a proud builder, of sanguine owners, 
of brave commanders, and of gallant crews, of rich 
cargoes, and, at last, loss, ruin, and — who knows? 
— perhaps even death. This is a lonely shore; not 
a house, not a living thing. 

The time speeds away and we grow weary and 
hungry. A bit of good fortune now falls to our lot. 
Here is a fishing boat along shore ; we hail it. The 
men are bound our way and bid us take passage with 
them, and welcome. An hour's sail and we reach 
Cat Harbor, where we are welcomed by a good 
woman to a nicely served lunch of bread and butter, 
tea, boiled eggs, and preserved gooseberries. 

We brace ourselves for the last hour and a half's 
walk, which brings us to Seal Cove, where I preach 
that evening. 

We make our home with George Parsons. He 

and his brother Richard are two noble-minded men, 

pious and earnest in spirit. The minister visits this 

place but once in six weeks ; they maintain the cause 

in his absence, and the work prospers. A fire has 

recently destroyed a dwelling-house here in which 

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a child was burned to death. There was noth- 
ing to mark the fatal spot except some embers 
and half-burned timbers. It was my sad duty 
to comfort the bereaved and unfortunate par- 
ents. The poor mother I found almost heartbroken. 
They are living in a temporary home, a sort of 
shed. Sympathetic friends and neighbors are not 
slow to help. 

Thursday. Visitation, study, and preaching 
make a full day. 

Friday. We walk all the way to Wesleyville, a 
distance of eighteen miles, and so ends our first 
itinerary of the mission. 

During the week we traveled fully fifty miles, 
preached nine times, and visited a large number of 
homes. 

In the winter the trip to Seal Cove was hard in 
the extreme. Yet I do not remember it was ever 
omitted for any cause. Every third week I went as 
far as Cape Cove; and every sixth week made the 
entire round. 

Such was Wesleyville Circuit as I knew it and 

worked it for three years. 

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The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER X 
The Seal Fishery 

"Man bends the ocean monsters to his sway; 
No terrors daunt him on his arduous way; 
Through frozen waters, or in sunlit waves, 
He seeks the seal, unnumbered hardships braves 
To gain a prize so rich in useful store." 

The seal fishery was practically new to me, and I 
found it full of enthralling interest. 

The employment of steamers in the seal fisheries 
is of recent date. Previous to their introduction 
sailing vessels had the wide seas to themselves. 
Being handicapped in competing with steam, the 
schooner was allowed to sail on the first of March, 
which meant, ten days' grace. Even so, the steamer 
had almost driven the schooner from the sea. 

Some four or five steamers made our neighbor- 
hood their recruiting-ground and starting-point, and 
came to their anchorage prior to Christmas. Each 
steamer, besides its own navigating captain and 
crew, carried a sealing captain and from one hun- 
dred and fifty to three hundred of a sealing crew. 
Several steamers yearly crossed the Atlantic from 
Dundee, Scotland, for a Newfoundland sealing ex- 
pedition. The young manhood for miles around 
was drawn upon to give each of the steamers its 

complement. By the beginning of March — the 

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The Skipper Parson 

tenth is the day of departure — there is a great stir 
in our midst. 1 Men come from all directions, each 
carrying his "kit" on his back, to join their respective 
ships. The industry of wives and mothers is seen 
in the numerous patches on the garments of hus- 
bands and sons. Each man is armed with a gaff, 
a pole six or seven feet long, having at one end an 
iron hook, and bound with iron. The gaff is indis- 
pensable, both as a weapon and a tool. With it the 
sealer kills his prey. A blow upon the nose, the 
most vulnerable point, is the usual coup de grace 
to the young seal. This useful instrument also 
serves as an ice pole, enabling the daring sealer, 
amid the dangers of floating ice, to leap from "pan 
to pan." The old seal is not so easily disposed of, 
and is generally shot, as are also all out of reach 
of the sealer's gaff ; hence a gun is a necessary part 
of the equipment for at least a portion of the crew. 
The cry of the young seal is described as very 
pathetic, resembling that of a human infant in pain ; 
and its effect is such on the novice that, as he 
advances to strike, for a moment he is well-nigh 
unnerved. The old male seal is a formidable foe 
at close quarters, and sealers have their stories of 
hard-fought battles with him. Many are the excit- 
ing adventures told, and the young men of New- 
foundland hail the day when they sail for the ice 
fields. 

There are four species of seals frequenting the 



1 Recent legislation has changed the date of sailing from March 10 to 
March 13, but sealing captains are advocating a return to the old rule. 

107 



The Skipper Parson 



waters of Labrador and Newfoundland, known as 
the bay seal, the harp, the hood, and the square 
flipper. The harp is the seal most valuable com- 
mercially. Its name is derived from a figure on its 
back somewhat resembling a harp. The hood is 
the largest seal and the most dangerous to encounter. 
The male, called by sealers "the dog-hood," chiv- 
alrously attends and defends his female. The ex- 
perienced "s wile-hunter" always aims to kill him 
first. If the female by ignorance or mischance is 
first despatched, look out ! Then her mate becomes 
an ugly customer to handle. Infuriated, he inflates 
his hood — a singular bag of flesh on the nose — so 
as to cover his face and eyes. With this shield it 
is impossible to kill him, even with a sealing-gun, 
unless you can shoot him a little behind, so that the 
ball will strike him in the neck or base of the skull. 

"It is related that on one occasion two hunters 
attacked a pair of hoods, and imprudently killed the 
female. The dog immediately inflated his hood and 
rushed at them furiously. They fought him with 
their gaffs until nearly exhausted, and a terrible 
death threatened both. As a last desperate resource 
one of them resolved to dash in upon the infuriated 
brute, while the other stood ready for the emergency. 
Drawing his jackknife, the hunter rushed on the 
dog, and struck a well-planted blow into the inflated 
hood. Instantly the air escaped, the shield was ren- 
dered useless, and a blow or two on the nose from 
the gaff of the other despatched him." 

Hatton and Harvey describe the aim of the sealer 
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The Skipper Parson 



thus. "The young seals are born on the ice from 
the fifteenth to the twenty-fifth of February, and 
as they grow rapidly and yield a much finer 
oil than the older ones, the object of the hunters 
is to reach them in their babyhood, while yet 
fed by their mother's milk, and while they are 
powerless to escape. So quickly do they increase 
in bulk that by the twentieth of March they are in 
perfect condition. By the first of April they begin 
to take to the water, and can no longer be captured 
in the ordinary way. The great arctic current, fed 
by streams from the seas east of Greenland and 
from Baffin's and Hudson's bays, bears on its bosom 
hundreds of square miles of floating ice which are 
carried past the shores of Newfoundland, to find 
their destiny in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. 
Somewhere amid these floating masses the seals 
have brought forth their young, which remain on 
the ice, during the first period of their growth, for 
five or six weeks. The great aim of the hunters 
is to get among the hordes of ' white-coats,' as the 
young harp seals are called, during this period. For 
this purpose they go forth at the appointed time." 

There was interest, even excitement, in our midst 
on the departure of so many men, arising from the 
fact that they were going on an expedition of danger 
and exploit. In a faint way it suggested the em- 
barkation of soldiers for foreign service. Many 
of the men were Christians in the fellowship of the 
church ; and knowing that the perils to be met threat- 
ened the soul even more than the body, we endeav- 

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The Skipper Parson 



ored to fortify them against spiritual foes and dan- 
gers by our prayers and exhortations, also by such 
practical means as supplying every man with reli- 
gious books and papers. We also gave them a good 
send-off. "The seal-hunting sermon/' as it was 
called, was an institution, being a discourse specially 
adapted to the men and the hour, preached the Sab- 
bath before sailing. On such occasions the church 
was always crowded to its utmost capacity. Hymn, 
Scripture, prayer, and sermon all pointed the same 
way, enjoining fidelity to Christ. Sabbath desecra- 
tion and bad example generally, like breakers ahead, 
threatened them, and against these temptations they 
were always lovingly, faithfully warned. Vows were 
renewed with God, tearful farewells were taken, 
sermon, hymn, and prayer ended, and the stern bat- 
tle began. The sealing voyage was a terrible ordeal 
for the Christian, as he was necessarily thrown in 
contact with many irreligious men, and compelled 
to see the Lord's Day openly profaned ; but through 
it all hundreds of men year after year remained 
loyal to Christ. They preferred to hold "faith and 
a good conscience" to silver and gold. I have known 
men to refuse promotion, which meant better pay 
and more comfort, choosing to remain common 
"silers" and enjoy the exercise of individual liberty. 

The conventional Christian, living in ease and 
comfort, denying himself little or nothing, fails to 
develop nobility of character. The men and women 
who follow Christ, come calm, come storm, grow 

in his image. The element of suffering in a more 

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The Skipper Parson 



than usual degree enters into the lives of our New- 
foundland brethren, and amid pain and privation 
there is often seen a fervor and fidelity in Christ's 
service which is altogether beautiful. 

Think of a few of the "unnumbered hardships" 
of our friend the Newfoundland seal-hunter. Rough 
berths are constructed in the forecastle and the other 
parts of the steamer for his accommodation. This 
is the state of things on leaving port; but at the 
ice when seals are plentiful, and every inch of space 
is required to stow them away, the men are ousted 
from their berths and must make shift for them- 
selves. In such a situation the elementary virtue of 
cleanliness is impossible. If a man puts on a clean 
shirt he puts it over an old one. Their bill of fare 
is rough and plain. When they fall in with seals 
they cook the heart, liver, flippers, and other parts, 
and feast thereon ad libitum. Hurricanes, ice- 
bergs, and blinding snowstorms are some of the 
stern foes they have to meet. The treachery of the 
ice is a constant danger. Whole nights are some- 
times spent on the ice fields, and when a fog arises 
suddenly there is the awful risk that the man may 
not find the steamer, or the steamer the man. 

A godly man in our church at Wesleyville told 

me the thrilling story of his adventure on the ice, 

with its happy outcome from a spiritual point of 

view. The trial was bitter, but from it he dated his 

conversion. Out following the seal, one day he 

found himself adrift. It was a crisis and an awful 

one. Unnoticed, beyond recall, cut off from his 

in 



The Skipper Parson 



now distant mates by dark, rolling waves, he gave 
himself up for lost. Far worse than the pain of 
death, a few hours' misery at the most, was the fear 
of perishing eternally which now took possession 
of him, for he had been "a resolute man," to use 
the vernacular for one boldly and defiantly wicked. 
Contrary to his expectations, on the steamer 
he was missed, and when searched for he was 
found and rescued. This did not happen, however, 
before the bit of floating ice had been transformed 
into a mercy seat, and the angels in heaven rejoiced 
that a sinner had turned in penitence unto God. His 
exposure broke forever a strong constitution. He 
was never the same, physically, but a mere wreck 
of his former self. He was tall, and must have been 
a handsome man prior to his adventure ; as I knew 
him, he was paralyzed in his right arm and side, 
and unfitted for work. 

I have already referred to another, invalided for 
life through hardship and exposure, and there were 
not a few in the same case. To see fine men prema- 
turely and hopelessly disabled was one of the hard- 
est things of a missionary's life here. The alleviat- 
ing and redeeming feature was their religion. They 
lived to "witness a good confession," and accom- 
plished more good in weakness and infirmity than 
in all their previous life; and the road they hence- 
forth walked was the narrow way that leads unto 
"eternal life." From heaven's viewpoint, it may 
be, we should rather envy than pity such as 
these. 

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The Skipper Parson 



The Rev. Mr. Noble relates an appalling and sur- 
prising instance of wreck and rescue upon a sea 
of ice: 

"Captain Knight, the commander of a fine brig 
with a costly outfit for a sealing voyage, lost his 
vessel near Cape Bonavista, in 1862. Immersed in 
the densest fog, and driven by the gale, he was run- 
ning down a narrow lane or opening in the ice, when 
the shout of 'breakers ahead!' and the crash of 
the bows on a reef came in the same moment. In- 
stantly overboard they sprang, forty men of them, 
and saw their beautiful vessel almost immediately 
buried in the ocean. There they stood on the heav- 
ing field of ice, gazing in mournful silence upon the 
great black billows as they rolled on, one after an- 
other bursting in thunder on the sunken cliffs, a 
tremendous display of surf where the brig had 
disappeared. To the west were the precipitous 
shores of Cape Bonavista, lashed by the surge, and 
the dizzy roost of wild sea birds. For this, the 
nearest land, in single file, with Captain Knight at 
their head, they commenced, at sunset, their dread- 
ful and almost hopeless march. All night, without 
refreshment or rest, they went stumbling and plun- 
ging on their perilous way, now and then sinking 
into the slush between the ice cakes, and having to 
be drawn out by their companions. But for their 
leader and a few bold spirits, the party would have 
sunk down and perished. At daybreak they were 
still on the rolling ice fields, beclouded with fog, and 

with no prospect but the terrible Cape and its soli- 

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The Skipper Parson 



tary chance of escape. Thirsty, famished, and worn 
down, they toiled on all the morning and afternoon, 
more and more slowly, bewildered and lost in the 
dreadful cloud, traveling along parallel with the 
coast, and passing the Cape without knowing it at 
the time. But for some remarkable interposition 
of Divine Providence the approaching sunset would 
have been their last ; only the most determined would 
have continued the march into the next night; the 
wornout and hapless ones would drop down singly, 
or gather into little groups on the cold ice and die. 
They had shouted until they were hoarse and looked 
into the endless gray cloud until they lost heart, 
when, wonderful to relate, just before sunset they 
came to a vessel. A few steps to the right or to the 
left and they would have missed it, and inevitably 
perished." 

The scene at the ice fields is one of the most 
wondrous and sublime that nature anywhere unfolds. 
Let the imagination picture it. The eye has before 
it a vast stretch of glittering ice, rough and broken, 
returning the glare of the sun. Here and there 
towers in solemn majesty a great iceberg. But even 
more is the charm of the scene felt beneath the pale 
moonlight and the quiet shining of the stars. A 
weird and bewitching beauty is added when the 
aurora borealis illumines the northern sky, always 
tremulous and changing — 

"The borealis race, 

That flit ere you can point their place." 
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The Skipper Parson 



By rare magic of words, Coleridge, paints for us 
the awf ulness of an arctic scene : 

"And now there came both mist and snow, 

And it grew wondrous cold; 
And ice, mast high, came floating by, 
As green as emerald. 

"And through the drifts the snowy cliffs 

Did send a dismal sheen : 
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — 
The ice was all between. 

"The ice was here, the ice was there, 
The ice was all around: 
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, 
Like noises in a swound." 

The return to port is also a time of general ex- 
citement. When fortune smiles upon our hardy seal- 
ers, a steamer will often return after a two or three 
weeks' trip laden to the gunwale with as many as 
thirty or forty thousand seals, worth from two and a 
half to three dollars apiece. Fortune, however, does 
not always smile. Not infrequently a steamer is 
absent seven or eight weeks, and, after bufferings on 
the icy seas, and weary watching and straining of 
eyes, does not bring to port more than enough seals 
to pay expenses; in which case, the hapless sealer, 
a poor man, does not bring a dollar or a dollar's 
worth home with him. I well remember the return 
of a sealing steamer to Wesleyville, not with seals — 
they had already been landed in Harbor Grace — 
but with her home-coming crew. As she neared the 

wharf, I was puzzled what to make of the men who 

us 



The Skipper Parson 



swarmed the deck. What transformation was this ! 
Did they not go away clean and decent? But look 
at them now ; their faces are as black as the steam- 
er's funnel. The truth is they had not washed dur- 
ing their absence. The luxury of soap and water 
does not belong to a sealing steamer, at least for 
those who take their chances as common "silers." 
What work for the women folk! What cleaning 
and mending! In other respects the men looked 
none the worse for the wear and tear of the voyage. 
They had certainly not suffered in flesh, but were, 
as remarked by their friends, "as fat as porpoises." 

It was a melancholy sight when they came ashore 
and were greeted by their loved ones. The voyage 
had been a failure; the men had hardly earned 
enough to pay for their "crop," or outfit, and had 
nothing coining to them. One scene I shall never 
forget. A great strapping fellow jumped from the 
steamer's deck to the wharf, and immediately on 
speaking with his friends burst into tears, sobbing 
like a child. On learning the cause of his grief I 
was not at all surprised at its intensity. He had 
come home empty-handed to a wife and twelve chil- 
dren and a poor old blind mother, and had just 
heard they had consumed the last handful of flour. 
What a home-coming was that! The picturesque 
and adventurous alone are usually given in descrip- 
tions of seal-hunting, but here is a touch of real life. 

The seal fisheries of Newfoundland are to be 
classed among those known as the "hair-seal fish- 
eries," and are not to be confounded with the "fur- 

116 



The Skipper Parson 



seal fisheries/' which give us the furs so prized for 
ladies' jackets, etc. The skin of the seal taken in 
Newfoundland waters is converted into boots and 
shoes, harness, portmanteaus, etc. The blubber is 
valuable for the oil extracted from it, used largely in 
lighthouses and mines, and for machinery generally. 
The average annual value of the Newfoundland seal 
fishery is about $1,100,000, and from 8,000 to 10,- 
000 men find employment by means of this industry. 

"Considering all the perils, it is surprising how 
few fatal disasters occur. During the seal hunt of 
1872 one hundred men perished, fifty of these hav- 
ing gone down in a single vessel called the Hunts- 
man on the coast of Labrador. In the same year 
two steamers, the Bloodhound and Retriever, were 
crushed by the ice and sank, but their crews, num- 
bering nearly four hundred men, managed to reach 
Battle Harbor, on Labrador, over the ice, after 
enduring great hardships. Another steamer, called 
the Monticello, also sank, in consequence of injuries 
received from the ice, but her crew were all saved." 
No great disaster occurred to any of the steamers 
leaving the neighborhood of Wesleyville during my 
time, but captains have recounted to me imminent 
dangers into which they blindly ran, and wonderful 
escapes from the jaws of death. 

The shore from Greenspond to Cape Freels greatly 

benefits by this valuable industry. 

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The Skipper Parson 



. CHAPTER XI 
Other Peregrinations and Perils 

"The keener tempests come : and fuming dun 
From all the livid east, or piercing north, 
Thick clouds ascend — in whose capacious womb 
A vapory deluge lies, to snow congealed. 
Heavy they roll their fleecy world along ; 
And the sky saddens with the gathering storm. 
Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends, 
At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes 
Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day 
With a continual flow. . . ." — Thomson. 

In my peregrinations on this mission I became 
skilled in the use of the snowshoe, which bothered 
me so much at first. Occasionally I have walked on 
snowshoes for fifteen miles at a stretch, thoroughly 
enjoying the exercise. 

Here is a scene from memory's tablet : The snow 
newly fallen, not as yet marked by foot of man or 
beast, lies as a carpet before us; and in wondrous 
contrast, yet perfect harmony, the clear sky of 
heaven, as blue as the finger of God can paint it, 
hangs as a curtain above us, only a few fleecy clouds 
floating on its placid surface. The light of a glori- 
ous sun adds brightness and sparkle to the perfect 
whiteness of the snow; the morning air is of that 
quality that stimulates the nerves and paints the 
cheek. Snowshoes on our feet, knapsack on our 

back, and stick in hand, Ave set out, a merry pair. 

118 



The Skipper Parson 



But, alas ! Storms come on suddenly, and the soft- 
falling, deceitful snow has made a winding sheet 
for many a poor waylaid traveler. 

Lost in a snowstorm — this was once my fate. I 
was returning from Cat Harbor. The snow lay 
thick on the ground, but both my guide and myself 
being equipped with snowshoes. we took the shorter 
course across "the barrens." It was mainly because 
of the route chosen that I had a guide at all. An- 
ticipating no danger, my guide confident and I con- 
fiding, neither of us thought of carrying a compass. 

We left in the early morning, when everything 
was fair and favorable. About ten o'clock snow 
began to fall lightly, and increasing gradually, de- 
veloped at last into a great storm. The snow fell 
thick and fast, the wind rising meanwhile. Out on 
the unprotected, treeless, snow-covered wastes, we 
received the full fury of the tempest. My guide's 
strong assurance of his ability to find the way out — 
he knew the lay of the land, he affirmed, naming 
certain ponds and rocks as landmarks — disarmed 
me of doubt and fear, and we pushed on cheerily. 

The storm grew wilder, beating upon us in blind- 
ing force. We urged our way on and on, in spite 
of it, our courage never flagging, even though our 
limbs grew weary. We had reckoned on being at 
a friend's house in Fox Cove at an hour long past. 
The landmarks in which my friend trusted either 
did not appear or he had failed to recognize them. 
But the real seriousness of our position burst upon 

me in a moment in the sudden failure of my guide, 

119 



The Skipper Parson 



who, confident until now, confessed, with agitation 
unto tears, that he was bewildered and had no idea 
of our whereabouts. "We will perish in the snow," 
he moaned. The plain English of it was, we were 
lost! 

A nice pass this ! For two hours, at least, we had 
been walking in a circle. My man was a picture to 
behold. He looked as though he had only two 
courses before him, both leading to the same end, 
death ; either to lie down and give it all up at once, 
or to wander on aimlessly until he fell to rise no 
more. He was a painful instance of complete mental 
collapse, the result of fear. It is good for a man 
to know the worst, and I was now fully awake to 
it. I saw it was my turn now to be "guide," and, as 
I found, master, too, for my man was as helpless as 
a child, and I had as much as I could do to keep 
him in hand. I began to beat about in thought for 
some cue to help us. The snow and wind seemed 
to have a mystifying effect. What straw was there 
for us to grasp? Then I remembered that in our 
desultory wanderings we had crossed and recrossed 
a track. Just as I was thinking about it, like a little 
gleam of light in the darkness we came upon it 
again. Here was the drowning man's plank and we 
clutched it. I resolved to stick to it for dear life. 
It was quickly being obliterated by the snow ; would 
vanish ere long, and it seemed to say, "I can save 
you, but act promptly." I walked in the track, 
but it was with great difficulty I got my companion 
to follow. Ere long we came to a wood pile, not 

120 



The Skipper Parson 



far from the edge of the woods. This was a pleas- 
ant surprise. To use a common but expressive 
phrase, "I now saw daylight." This was a "slide- 
path" used for hauling firewood, and had doubtless 
been so used in the early part of this very day. We 
had nothing to do now but to turn right-about face, 
and to follow the path in the opposite direction, with 
all the haste possible. But my companion seemed to 
take a strong fancy for the woods, and made in that 
direction, like a storm-tossed mariner allured by a 
false light. I was compelled to seize him by the 
coat collar and brandish my stick over his head with 
many loud and threatening words before I got him 
to walk in the path ahead of me. It was now a 
race, between us and the snow, which would be first 
— the snow in burying the path, or we poor travelers 
in getting out before it was lost to sight. Thank 
God, we won! In unexpected gladness, we almost 
stumbled into the very door of Mark Garrett's cot- 
tage in Fox Cove. We were saved. 

In this hospitable home we found the rest and the 
refreshment we needed. My companion soon recov- 
ered himself; with the exception of being badly 
frost-bitten about the face, he was all right next 
day. Mark, our host, was an Englishman whom an 
adventurous spirit had brought to Terra Nova in 
boyhood, never to return to his native land. He 
was one of those men, occasionally met, who strike 
us as worthy of a better lot, planned by nature for 
nobler things than they have realized. 

Night found me in my lodgings, my bachelor 

121 



The Skipper Parson 



quarters, where, surrounded by my much-loved 
books, and a fortnight's mail, I enjoyed a feast of 
soul far into the night. "A letter from home" — 
why, here are half a dozen of them, and papers, too ; 
old friends: City News, Recorder, Times — O, the 
magic of them all! What transportation of soul! 
What forgetfulness of snowstorms and the like! 
Remember the far-off one, the lone one, and write 
him, and he will bless you with a thousand blessings. 

During the coldest part of winter in Newfound- 
land the harbors, coves, creeks, and sometimes even 
the bays are frozen over and the ice becomes the 
great thoroughfare, but a dangerous one. Should 
the ice break under the foot of the lonely traveler, 
or should he unsuspiciously step into a treacherous 
place, the extremity of his danger cannot be exag- 
gerated. He will make a brave and desperate effort 
to save himself, but the current is too strongs and 
bears him under the ice to doom; or he holds on 
to the edge of the ice as for dear life, but the cold 
soon compels his frozen hands to release their grasp, 
and he sinks to rise no more. If he escapes, it is 
little short of a miracle. Accidents of this kind are 
of frequent occurrence every winter, by which some 
have narrow escapes, and some come to an untimely 
end. Travelers on the ice, especially when danger 
is apprehended, go in companies, carrying ropes and 
long poles of the style of the sealer's "gaff." In 
this way they are enabled, in case of need, to render 
prompt assistance, usually effective, and when thus 
prepared, it is marvelous what dangers and diffi- 

122 



The Skipper Parson 



culties they surmount, what precarious and uncer- 
tain "footing" they venture to make, smiling at 
danger. 

And now to my little adventure : I had been visit- 
ing a sealing steamer, anchored off Poole's Island, 
and was returning to the mainland. A friend ac- 
companied me as far as he thought necessary, and, 
bidding good-bye, said, "Now you are quite safe; 
go straight ahead." Thrown off my guard, and 
unmindful of my steps, like the careless Christian 
who does not "watch and pray," I soon came to 
grief. All unknowingly, with fearful suddenness, 
I walked right into a place where the ice was soft as 
pulp — "slob," as Newfoundlanders call it. There 
was no friend near, no human being within sight; 
only that Eye was upon me that never sleeps, that 
Arm was near that is never slack. Being a swim- 
mer, I instinctively began to tread water, which was 
fortunate, as by this means, aided by the thickness 
or consistency of the icy water, I did not sink much 
beyond my waist. Breaking the soft ice with my 
hands until I reached that which was strong and 
hard, I summoned all my strength in one supreme 
effort and landed on the solid ice. My hand- 
bag was floating on the surface of the water, and 
lying flat on the ice I fished it out with my stick. 
My feet and legs were cold beyond endurance from 
the ice-water in my long boots. I set off running 
with all my might for the shore, where I saw smoke 
ascending over the hill. Reaching the little cottage, 

without a knock or a word to the astonished people 

123 



The Skipper Parson 



I rushed in, and not until I had taken off my boots 
and got my feet out of their ice-bath did I explain 
matters. Their surprise was at once turned to sym- 
pathy. The kind folk did everything possible for 
me, especially giving me what I most needed— a 
supply of warm and dry clothing. Afterward it 
seemed a mystery how I got in, and especially it was 
a mystery how I got out. Once more God under- 
took for me. 

My predecessor, the Rev. George Bullen, 1 had a 
similar experience, and a marvelous escape. He 
was crossing the frozen harbor of Norton's Cove 
when the ice broke under his feet. He clung to the 
edge of the ice, but, being a very heavy man, he 
could do nothing to extricate himself from his peril- 
ous position. He must soon have perished but for 
a circumstance of a strange and unusual character. 
Joseph Kean, a son of affliction, to whom I have 
already made allusion, lay on his bed in one of the 
houses overlooking the harbor. Though his bed 
was placed near the window, he was unable to raise 
himself sufficiently to enjoy the view, and necessity, 
the mother of invention, had taught him how to 
overcome this difficulty by means of a looking-glass 
which he always kept at his bedside. By the prac- 
ticed manipulation of the glass he could see all parts 
of the harbor, and in this daily lookout he found an 
avenue of relief from the monotony of his long afflic- 
tion. Thus employed, he saw Mr. Bullen in his 
extremely dangerous position. In the providence 

1 Now of the Michigan Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church. 
124 



The Skipper Parson 

of God, he took up his glass at the very moment of 
the occurrence, not a moment too soon, not a mo- 
ment too late. He instantly sounded an excited 
alarm. The peril of their beloved minister was 
quickly known through the entire place. With great 
difficulty, by means of ropes and poles, Mr. Bullen 
was rescued. A poor bedridden sufferer, in the re- 
markable way described, was thus helpful in saving 
a valuable life. Wonderful, isn't it? So God uses 
the least of his children, and "They also serve who 
only stand and wait." 

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The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XII 
From Wesleyville to Harbor Grace via Fogo 

"When I am overmatched by petty cares 
And things of earth loom large and look to be 
Of moment, how it soothes and comforts me 
To step into the night and feel the airs 
Of heaven fan my cheek; and, best of all, 
Gaze up into those all-uncharted seas 
Where swim the stately planets ; such as these 
Make mortal fret seem slight and temporal!" 

— Burton. 

"District," "Conference," these were magic 
words to many an isolated missionary who had 
scarcely seen the face of a brother minister, and 
nothing of the world beyond the borders of his 
own "mission," for nearly twelve months. These 
words suggested not merely the routine of church 
courts, but the warm hand-clasp, the fellowship of 
kindred spirits, the ripening of friendships, besides 
new scenes, faces, pleasures. The joy of meeting, 
always a marked feature of Methodist Conferences, 
was in the case of Newfoundland, I am inclined to 
think, unmatched the world over, and this for obvi- 
ous reasons. I can never forget, at the opening of 
Conference, the thrilling effect of the singing 
of words familiar since Methodist Conferences 
began : 

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The Skipper Parson 



"And are we yet alive, 

And see each other's face? 

What troubles have we seen, 

What conflicts have we past, 
Fightings without and fears within, 

Since we assembled last ! 
But out of all the Lord 

Hath brought us by his love ; 
And still he doth his help afford, 

And hides our life above." 

But to men stationed in the north of the island, 
how to get to District and Conference was often a 
formidable question. The difficulties and humors 
attending the solution of this problem may be illus- 
trated by my own experience. 

In the summer of 1886 District was to be held at 
Fogo and Conference at Harbor Grace. Fogo is 
an important island north of Wesleyville ; and Har- 
bor Grace is the second town in the colony, situated 
in Conception Bay. 

The first stage of the journey was a tramp of 
forty miles to Musgrave Harbor, which I accom- 
plished in two days. Here I joined the Rev. Wil- 
liam Rex, whose bachelor quarters in the parsonage 
I shared for several days, including Sunday. This 
is a populous and pleasantly situated settlement. 
There is one large church, the people all belonging 
to the same communion. I enjoyed preaching to 
them, also the rest and the change. 

A story told me by the mail carrier interested me 

while journeying hither. The scene of this bear story 

was some isolated spot in these regions. A father 

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The Skipper Parson 



and mother left their "tilt" in charge of their son 
and daughter, the boy, the older of the two, being 
about twelve years of age. The parents had not 
been absent long before the little folk espied a bear 
making for the "tilt." The attraction was a cask 
standing at the door containing blubber. Raising 
himself on his hind legs and letting his two front 
paws rest on the cask, he enjoyed himself first- 
rate, feasting on the blubber. Needless to say, 
our little friends within were greatly alarmed, but, 
young as they were, they showed themselves pos- 
sessed of "real grit," a quality not uncommon 
among the sturdy people of the island. The boy got 
down his father's sealing-gun and prepared to dis- 
patch the bear, his sister helping him. These young 
defenders of hearth and home were strategic as 
well as brave in their actions. This plan was quickly 
agreed upon: when the gun was loaded and every- 
thing ready, at a given signal the sister was to open 
the door, when her brother would take aim and fire ; 
then the door was to be closed with all speed and 
bolted. The little fellow's strength was not equal 
to his holding the gun out straight without a rest 
for the barrel, so he "commandeered" a piece of 
the household furniture for the purpose, and han- 
dled the weapon effectively. With great deliberation 
preparations were made, and at the word "ready" 
the door swung open ; a moment's cool aim, and then 
"bang!" the kick of the weapon rolling the plucky 
youngster over on the floor. The brave girl, who 

stood by the door, shut and secured it ere the report 

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The Skipper Parson 



had died away. They were safe ; the bear was shot. 
Poor Bruin, with a bullet in him, went away, leav- 
ing a blood track in the snow. Some hours after- 
ward the returning parents found the bear dead, 
and when they saw the marks of blood leading 
in the direction of their own home their fears be- 
came far greater than their children's had been. 
With intense anxiety they hurried home, but hap- 
pily to meet their two little heroes waiting breath- 
lessly, with a capital story to tell. 

I would gladly have lingered longer at Musgrave 
Harbor, amid surroundings so pleasant, but when 
District opens and our names are called we must be 
there to respond. Therefore early in the week Mr. 
Rex and myself set sail for Fogo, a Prince Edward 
Island gentleman, farming in the neighborhood, 
having placed at our disposal a yacht and a man. 
During the afternoon the wind came "head," and 
blew so hard that we were compelled to make for 
the nearest harbor. The place was unknown to us. 
It was, like many other harbors studding Newfound- 
land's coast, perfectly safe, with deep and clear waters ; 
fishermen's houses built high on the rocks fronting 
the harbor, and stages and fish flakes surrounding 
it, down by the water, around half its circumference. 
The people proved to be all Roman Catholics, and, 
though poor, lacked nothing of hospitality and kind- 
ness. We had hoped in an hour or so to continue 
our journey, but the increasing gale ordered other- 
wise. The man who received us into his house was 

very friendly, and did all in his power to make us 

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The Skipper Parson 



feel welcome. But when night came on, with evi- 
dently sincere regret he confessed embarrassment. 
His sick wife occupied the only bed. He had, how- 
ever, a way to meet the difficulty. With spruce 
boughs and quilts he made for us a "shakedown" 
on the floor. This, without much ado, we gladly 
accepted. The three of us lying as closely and 
snugly together as possible enjoyed the fun of it. 
Not so our kind host. When he had tucked us in, 
and satisfied himself that we were comfortable, he 
stood and looked at us. As he did so he was over- 
come with emotion, and could no longer restrain 
his tears. With tremulous voice and strong Irish 
accent, he said, "Faith, sirs, it's Oi that's sorry; 
but belave me, your riverences, I couldn't do more 
for my priest, Father Veitch himself." We have 
been entertained many times in the homes of the 
rich, and enjoyed at their hands a gracious hospi- 
tality, for which to this day we remain grateful; 
but to none do we cherish a warmer feeling than to 
this humble man, who, in his poverty, showed his 
chance guests for a night such genuine and affecting 
kindness. 

Fogo, at which we arrived by noon the next day, 
we found to be a pleasant little town, the head- 
quarters of an island bearing the same name. The 
Methodist church in which the District meeting was 
held was small, but very comfortable and tasteful. 
The Anglicans also have a church, and there are 
good schools. Here, for the third and last time, 

I passed through that much-dreaded ordeal of the 

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The Skipper Parson 



probationer for the ministry "a trial sermon/' 
preaching before the District on the text, 'Tor to 
me to live is Christ." 

After the work of District was ended, the ques- 
tion arose, "How are the brethren to get to Con- 
ference?" There was a regular fortnightly sailing 
of the coastal steamer, but unfortunately her time 
did not bring her to Fogo to suit us ; therefore we 
were thrown on our own resources. No other sub- 
ject we discussed agitated our minds to an equal 
degree. Telegrams were exchanged; hopes were 
raised only to be dissipated ; and at last we resigned 
ourselves to the best we could do under the circum- 
stances. The best we could do in this case meant 
the chartering of a small steam launch. Some 
twenty to twenty-five of us took ship in her. As 
may be imagined, the space was very limited. I 
am sure our worthy captain could never have said 
to any one of us what Charles II said of Godolphin. 
"He is never in the way, and never out of the way," 
for we must have been often in his way in the execu- 
tion of his duty. Indeed, on the crowded deck we 
were in each other's way all the time, and no one 
knew how to avoid it. When night came on there 
was the problem to be solved, "Where are we to 
sleep?" Well, we made the floor of our little cabin 
our bed. But what was that among so many ? The 
room was so small that we had to lie pretty close 
and even across one another — that is, while the head 
was necessarily kept free, the lower part of the body 
underlaid or overlaid that of another. "Affliction's 

131 



The Skipper Parson 



sons are brothers in distress," and big men and little 
men had to practice mutual concessions. For those 
who did not like this, there was the deck, which they 
could walk all night. And, be it said, those Meth- 
odist preachers manifested their spirit of brother- 
hood under difficult circumstances. If a grumble 
arose in any heart it was certainly suppressed; but 
the unconscious groan, the gasping for breath, the 
humble and polite request, "Please move your leg, 
brother," were painful but ludicrous to hear. And, 
let it be said to his eternal honor, there was among 
us the imperturbable brother, whose snores pro- 
claimed his perfect contempt for all such slight and 
petty inconveniences. Of us more ordinary mortals, 
some took the situation philosophically, others as 
matter for merriment; but I apprehend that the 
majority remember that night, the half -suffocation, 
soreness of limbs, and seasickness, as an unpleasant 
nightmare. We reached Harbor Grace after dark 
on Saturday night, but through a queer blunder of 
the captain, who in the darkness and fog mistook 
Salvage Rock, near the mouth of the harbor, for a 
ship in full sail, we were compelled to spend another 
night on board. The captain gave orders for the 
anchor to be dropped, and positively refused to enter 
the harbor until daylight. In the morning every- 
body laughed heartily at the captain's blunder, and 
even he enjoyed the joke. We went ashore on 
Sunday morning in the best of humor, as it seems to 
me passengers always do. 

The experience of the same District in 1889 
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The Skipper Parson 

was even less fortunate. The District was in Bona- 
vista, and Conference was to be held in St. John's. 
While negotiations were pending for our convey- 
ance to the city, the work of the District having 
been faithfully and leisurely completed inside of a 
week, "the brethren" enjoyed themselves in social 
entertainment, and even in a game of cricket, as if 
boys again on an English green. We could not 
even get a steam launch, and there was no selection 
of schooners. The only one obtainable was a third- 
rate craft called the Thrasher. In desperation we 
chartered her, and sailed from Catalina, though one 
or two of the brethren held back, not willing to risk 
their lives. The steam launch was king to this. 
Besides the District, there was a family on board 
bound for Blackhead, in Conception Bay, in conse- 
quence of which we were called upon to endure the 
added inconvenience of an indirect and longer course. 
The weather was stormy, and it was impossible to 
remain on deck. It has always been to me a wonder 
where the brethren managed to "stow away" ; some 
went down into the hold, and had only the ballast 
and old or spare sails to rest on. As for myself, 
I lay down in a dark, rat-infested corner. After 
battling with the tempest for some hours, our sails 
were rent, and, to our dismay, the ship was put back. 
We had not been ashore long enough to recover 
from seasickness when, in the gray of the morning, 
word came from the skipper that he was about to 
sail again. We renewed all the discomforts of our 

previous experience, and continued the same until 

133 



The Skipper Parson 



the following night, when we landed in St. John's. 
As we drew near we feared, from the redness of the 
sky, that the whole city was on fire. But happily 
it was not so. A little fire on a dark night maketh 
a mighty glare. 

This, then, is what attendance at Conference 
meant to the men of the Bonavista District in the 
years 1886 and 1889; an d many of my brethren 
could tell a similar story to mine, "From Wesley- 
ville to Harbor Grace via Fogo." 

It is gratifying to know that the era of the rail- 
road has at last dawned upon Newfoundland. Im- 
proved locomotion will banish these discomforts 
and make them ancient history. I heartily congrat- 
ulate the brethren of the new era. 

To return to the Conference of 1886. Harbor 
Grace, the second town in the colony, had a popu- 
lation of about eight thousand and an extensive 
trade. Here there was an imposing Roman Cath- 
olic cathedral. The old Methodist church was one 
of those comfortable edifices in which every pew 
seemed designed to hold a family, and usually did 
so, such as distinguished the past more than the 
present. Harbor Grace Conference, 1886, of which 
the Rev. George Boyd was president, was a mem- 
orable one to me, being the occasion of my ordina- 
tion, in conjunction with three other young men, 
Henry Abraham, F. R. Duffill, and S. T. H. Jen- 
nings. The ex-president, Rev. George J. Bond, 
B.A., delivered the ordination charge. Faithfully 
and lovingly the preacher expounded the words, 

134 



The Skipper Parson 



"Do the work of an evangelist." His closing appeal 
was most solemn and affecting, carrying our 
thoughts to the day when each shall give an ac- 
count of his stewardship : 

"Brethren, I am looking away as I see you here 
before me, looking away to the consummation, away 
beyond the trials and temptations and triumphs to 
the end of life, when you shall lay down the sacred 
duties which now you are taking up — looking far 
forward to the day for which all other days were 
made, 

"When the stars are old, 
And the sun is cold, 
And the leaves of the judgment book unfold!" 

to the day when the results of your lives, of your 
labors shall be gathered in and weighed. O, what 
shall I say to you in view of that day? God bless 
you and guide you, and give you grace, that in that 
day you may hear Christ say, Well done!' Live 
for that ! Labor for that !" 

i35 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XIII 
The New Parsonage 

"If thou dost find 
A house built to thy mind 

Without thy cost, 
Serve thou the more 
God and the poor: 
My labor is not lost." — Unknown. 

"He loveth also to live in a well-repaired house, that he 
may serve God therein more cheerfully." — Fuller. 

The new parsonage — the first and only one the 
circuit ever had — was completed. It seemed a great 
task, and when difficulties loomed up some doubted 
that it would be accomplished; but here it was, 
graceful and substantial of form, near church and 
schoolhouse, facing the sea. It meant a good sum 
of money, but the people were generous givers and 
hard workers ; collections and bazaars followed each 
other in rapid succession, and the bill was footed, 
with a substantial balance for furniture. Patiently 
and fondly I watched the building rise, sometimes 
doing odd jobs about it, and using the paint brush 
where not much skill was required. The people 
were proud of their "mission house,' , and I, for 
years a wanderer, was ready to welcome a place to 
call "home." 

We received a kind and hearty welcome both in 

St. John's and Greenspond, but I hasten to nar- 

136 



The Skipper Parson 



rate the unique and splendid reception tendered to 
us in our own dear Wesleyville. We were indebted 
to Dr. Macdonald, of Greenspond, for the courteous 
loan of his yacht, and to the volunteer crew who so 
kindly and skillfully manned the same. The yacht 
was gayly decked with bunting, and each man car- 
ried a gun, wherewith to herald our approach. It 
was a bright, warm September afternoon, in 1887, 
when we thus set off from Greenspond. We en- 
joyed a quick and delightful sail of about half an 
hour to the W esleyville shore. The village was gay 
with flags, and in response to the sharp report of 
our rifles answering salutations came from all parts 
of the land and the adjacent islands. We were 
soon at the wharf, our landing place. A deputation 
of a score or more of the ladies of the church 
awaited our arrival as signalized by the guns. No 
formal introductions were needed. My wife, on 
stepping on the wharf, was received in the arms 
of the nearest, who imprinted on her cheek a kiss 
of welcome. The second did likewise, and the rest 
followed suit, until my poor wife, amid laughter and 
tears, was well-nigh overcome by the heartiness of 
the greeting. 

Thus the new parsonage was provided with 
occupants. Here we made our first home, and 
spent the larger part of our first year of married 
life, my third and last on the circuit. Our "manse" 
occupied a commanding position, from the upper 
rooms of which we had a grand view of land and 
sea, in all diversity of shape and contour, endless 

137 



The Skipper Parson 



gradations of tint and color, by winter shade so- 
bered into dullness, by summer sun kindled into 
burnished gold, through all the year's wondrous 
panorama. The parsonage was a grand place in 
which to dream dreams, and see visions, but this 
luxury could be little enjoyed on a mission of such 
extent as Wesleyville. 

The people, as we have seen, received my wife 
most kindly, but still, like the rest of us, she must 
needs have her probation, before graduation into 
their affections and confidence. It was not a long 
probation, as with us, for at a step, a bound, she 
"graduated with honors." The following story, 
which may be taken as a sample of others, shows 
how she conquered in one household, winning their 
best opinions. When it was rumored that I was 
going to Nova Scotia, to join the ranks of the bene- 
dicts, a friend of mine said to me, in his blunt, good- 
natured way, "What are you going to Nova Scotia 
to get a woman for?" The old gentleman had, it 
was plain, a little prejudice. He thoroughly be- 
lieved, what I would be the last to deny, that New- 
foundland was the grandest of all countries, and 
her daughters were fairer than all the daughters of 
men. The first time my wife and I enjoyed his 
hospitality, Hamburg bread, broken in small pieces, 
as was customary, was on the table. She was helped, 
liked it, and asked for more. The old gentleman's 
eyes twinkled with satisfaction as he said, "Be you 
fond of it? Help yourself." The ice was broken, 

and the conversation became free and lightsome. 

138 



The Skipper Parson 



After the repast, he came to where I was sitting 
alone, and putting his hand on my shoulder, in the 
low tone of one speaking in strict confidence, he 
said, "She'll dor 

We lived among the people and for the people, 
and their joys and sorrows were as our own. The 
minister and "his lady" received the highest reward 
the people could give, their love and confidence. 
Their pastor they accepted as "guide, philosopher, 
and friend." Far from the city, having at this time 
neither medical practitioner (the nearest physician 
resided at Greenspond) nor legal adviser, your 
missionary was called upon to perform many duties 
besides those distinctively belonging to his spiritual 
office. The engaging of teachers for half a dozen 
schools, and paying their salaries, drawing up peti- 
tions to the government anent the making or repair- 
ing of roads and bridges, etc., the making of an oc- 
casional will, and in simple common complaints, the 
giving of medical advice, sometimes even medicines 
— all this and such like fell naturally into his every- 
day work. 

A trying experience during the first year of our 
married life brought us and the people closer to- 
gether in a common suffering. It was in the spring 
of 1888. The sealing steamers, having discharged 
their cargoes at Harbor Grace, were expected back 
with the men, and anxious women were looking not 
only for husbands and sons, but with them provi- 
sions for the replenishment of household stores. 
Then came an untoward circumstance, threatening 

139 



The Skipper Parson 



gravest consequences, even famine. The ice was 
driven and packed in an impenetrable mass along 
the shores, stretching far away below the horizon. 
That great sea of ice, glittering resplendent in the 
bright March sun, was a cruel barrier between loved 
ones. Around us were "homes of want and sad- 
ness"; yonder, though hidden from view, were 
friends and provisions, but, alas, the ice, as cruel 
as cold, kept them apart. Anxious days, borne pa- 
tiently by a suffering people, passed away. Effectual 
as the ice blockade was, we knew that a change of 
wind would break it up in a few hours; but it 
continued day after day, as if it had come to stay. 
In many homes food was exhausted ; in many more 
it was near the vanishing point; and it is not too 
much to say of some of them, at least, that starva- 
tion stared them in the face. What were we to do 
All we had ourselves, if distributed among the peo- 
ple, would not have made more than one day's 
supply for them. The only thing, and the best thing 
we could do under the circumstances, was to repre- 
sent the critical state of affairs to the government 
agent in Greenspond. Thus we got doles of barrels 
of flour and kegs of molasses to distribute among 
the needy. The time of waiting was long and try- 
ing. Every time a dole was exhausted a stronger 
representation was made to the authorities, and it 
was repeated ; and thus the poor people managed to 
keep body and soul together. One pathetic sight 
we can never forget : on the hill at the back of the 

parsonage a group of women could be seen each 

140 



The Skipper Parson 



day, and at different hours of the day, with hands 
to their eyes, scanning the long dreary stretch of 
ice, if perchance they might espy in the distance 
the smoke of steamers, the sign of hope. For well- 
nigh three weeks we endured the greatest suspense. 
At last the favoring breezes carried the ice to sea, 
and big steamers were seen plowing their way 
toward us. Then there was great joy in that place. 

As in nature sometimes the tempest reigns, storm 
succeeding storm, so in life there are times when 
trouble follows trouble, and sorrow seems to rule. 
Even joy when it comes is but for the moment, and 
the sky darkens to midnight blackness. It is just 
here a turn for the better comes. The darkest hour 
is nearest the dawn, the dawn of a long and happy 
day. , This describes the experience of two young 
friends of mine. The sword had already pierced the 
soul of the woman. A day of gladness came again ; 
unitedly they step out, hand in hand, the image of 
content and hope. They had not gone far ere, as 
a bolt from the blue, they were plunged in a deeper 
woe. But the light came again — first a thin streak, 
then more and more unto the perfect day of a long 
and happy wedded love. 

The marriage was an ordinary one — that is, it 
was to onlookers like other nuptial celebrations. 
There was the usual feast, the usual display of bunt- 
ing, and the usual firing of guns in honor of an 
event which never lacks interest whether the bride 
be a peeress or a fishermaid. But to the two partici- 
pants the occasion was far from ordinary. Their 

141 



The Skipper Parson 



faces told their perfect consciousness that this was 
to them one of the greatest days they would ever 
see, and in sympathy we read and understood their 
feelings. "One touch of nature makes the whole 
world kin." It was my honor to officiate, and proud 
I was to do so, for Zephaniah, the groom, was a 
member of our church, and a young man who stood 
high in my esteem and affection ; and his bride was 
a young widow, in every way fitted to be to him 
a true helpmeet. Congratulations were upon every 
lip; high hopes were in every heart. What could 
man and woman more desire ? Alas, the oft-proved 
truth, "Thou knowest not what a day may bring 
forth." Three weeks of happiness, then a sudden 
and an awful woe. They told me that Zephaniah 
had been working in a saw-pit ; that a heavy log had 
fallen on his head ; that he was taken up and carried 
home insensible, to die. When I visited the stricken 
home my poor dear friend lay on his bed, uncon- 
scious, and his young wife who had never left his 
bedside was dumb with grief. It was then, for the 
first time, I heard her sad history. Her first hus- 
band was drowned at sea only a few months after 
their marriage; and now, poor soul, she was sud- 
denly, and even more speedily, plunged, as it then 
appeared, into the same sorrow a second time. Thus 
sorrow had followed sorrow in that poor woman's 
lot. The night was at its darkest, but the dawn 
was not far off. After many weary, anxious days 
and nights the injured man opened his eyes and 

rewarded his patient, loving wife with a look of 

142 



The Skipper Parson 

grateful recognition. His convalescence was long; 

his recovering of strength was longer ; but in the end 

he became a strong man once more. After sixteen 

years, in a Canadian province, I met Zephaniah and 

his wife again, and a happier couple and family 

group one might go far to find. He was now a 

flourishing and successful man of business. Then 

I understood how the prayer had been answered, 

"Make us glad according to the days wherein thou 

hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have 

seen evil.' , 

"The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears ; 
And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years." 

There was no "servant girl question" either here 
or anywhere in Newfoundland, and the burdens of 
housekeeping were lightened and domestic life ren- 
dered happier by the old-time fidelity of the helper. 

As the years sped, I rejoiced the more in the 
work of preaching the glorious gospel, and in hav- 
ing a humble part in the highest service on earth, 

the ministry of Jesus Christ. 

143 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XIV 
Sidelights of Character 

"I have heard higher sentiment from the lips of poor un- 
educated men and women, when exerting the spirit of severe, 
yet gentle, heroism under difficulties and afflictions, or speak- 
ing their simple thoughts as to circumstances in the lot of 
friends and neighbors, than I ever yet met with, except in 
the pages of the Bible." — Sir Walter Scott. 

Sanctification is difficult to define. We thank 
God for those whom we have known to adorn the 
doctrine. On every circuit on which we labored 
there were some who were worthy to be called 
"saints" in the highest sense. These men and 
women "walked with God." As I write, there come 
back in thought one and another in whom was "the 
mind of Christ." 

Father John, to coin a name, was one of these. 
When I knew him he was a venerable old man. 
His thoughtful and benevolent countenance would 
have well become a doctor of divinity; yet, on in- 
quiry, you would find he could neither read nor 
write. In other years he had been an opposer of 
the gospel and of Methodism; but he had done it 
ignorantly, in unbelief. After his conversion his 
life was truly given to God. The purity of his life 
and the peace and joy that shone in his face recalled 
the beatitude, "Blessed are they which do hunger 
and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be 

144 



The Skipper Parson 

filled." He began his Christian life by promising 
to give twenty dollars a year to the support of the 
gospel, and he kept his word. But this was by no 
means the limit of his giving ; he manifested a liberal, 
spirit toward every good work. In the house of 
God, which he loved, he was a hearer to be prized. 
Only those who preach know the priceless value, 
in inspiration, of a good hearer, and understand the 
meaning of the saying, "Half the eloquence is in the 
audience." He used verily to feed on the Word of 
God, as read or preached. His whole aspect seemed 
to say: "How sweet are Thy words unto my taste. 
Yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth !" He nearly 
always had some thoughtful or kindly remark to 
make about the "sarment," or some discriminating 
question to put about the Bible, each time we met. 
Like all true piety, his was unselfish and disinter- 
ested. He lived on an adjacent island, where many 
were indifferent to religion. Often very few would 
have troubled to come to the mainland to church 
had not Father John seen that boats were provided 
for the conveyance of those who wished to attend. 
He did even more than this. On Sunday mornings 
he frequently went around among the more careless 
ones, and invited and urged them to come to God's 
house. When we saw him returning home, sitting in 
the center of the crowded boat while his friends full 
of the spirit of the service sang heartily their favorite 
hymns, we knew he was happy and rewarded. Even 
to us ashore it was very pleasing to see and hear 

them. A fuller reward was his when, during revival 

145 



The Skipper Parson 



services, young people insisted upon crossing the 
jagged and treacherous ice, at no little risk, to seek 
the Lord, "if haply they might feel after him, and 
find him, though he be not far from every one of us." 
Perhaps the most characteristic feature of this good 
man was his joy fulness. Not that he was demon- 
strative in word or act, for his was rather a quiet 
spirit ; but his face shone with gladness rarely shad- 
owed, and his lips spoke only love and praise. What 
a charm there is in such a character! In many a 
lowly cottage home in Terra Nova, on board many 
a schooner cruising in her angry waters, consecrated 
lives are to be found, men and women glorifying 
God in "the trivial round, the common task." 

During special services in Wesleyville a rather re- 
markable incident occurred, resulting in the conver- 
sion of one whom we may call Brother Didymus. In 
the midst of the meetings there came a terrific storm, 
and it seemed impossible for anyone to go out. We 
heard voices, however, and concluded some young 
men were going to church. I then set off, though 
I could get no one to accompany me. In the blind- 
ing snowstorm that was raging I lost my way, get- 
ting off the road on to the deep snow that lay on the 
marsh. With much difficulty and loss of time I at 
last reached the church. There were only two men 
there, one of our exhorters and Brother Didymus. 
They were engaged in close conversation on religion, 
in which I immediately joined. Brother Didymus 
was a doubter, with all a doubter's gloom and de- 
spair. Although I knew this quite well, I was 



The Skipper Parson 



greatly shocked to hear him proclaim his own soul's 
ruin, saying, "There's no salvation for me." These 
words were spoken with such a despairing look and 
gesture as showed he had persuaded himself into 
this belief. We spent about an hour with him, rea- 
soning from the Scriptures that Christ tasted death 
for every man. Next evening it was a great sur- 
prise and joy to find him willing to own himself a 
seeker, and to hear him say ere the meeting closed 
that he had received a blessing. From that time 
forward Brother Didymus regularly attended class 
meeting, but it was not until some months after that 
he entered into the full assurance of faith. "God 
moves in a mysterious way." The storm led to a 
heart-to-heart talk with a despairing soul, who prob- 
ably could not have been reached in any other way. 
This incident lent its strong emphasis to two truths 
already believed. ( i ) That it is worth while going 
to the smallest meeting, consisting literally of two 
or three. (2) That none need despair of God's 
mercy. 

There floats before the mind's retina a character 
of another type. Happy William was a quaint old 
man, not without strong prejudices, though a true 
Christian. One of his peculiarities was his objection 
to pay his contribution to the minister through a 
collector. He believed in putting it in the hand of 
the minister himself. I was busy in my study one 
morning when happy William was announced. Be- 
ing heartily welcomed, he greeted me with his usual 
sunny smile and his favorite ejaculation, a sign 

147 



The Skipper Parson 



always that emotion stirred his heart, "Praise the 
Lord!" He would not be seated until he had ex- 
plained the object of his call, and had discharged 
what to him was evidently a pleasing duty. He had 
come five miles that morning to give himself the 
pleasure of handing his "fee" — contribution for sal- 
ary — to his minister in person. Pulling out a large 
red handkerchief, in which something important, it 
became evident, was secured, he unrolled it slowly 
and mysteriously, until he came to a knot at one 
of the corners, which at last having been untied by 
the aid of his teeth he extracted therefrom a five- 
dollar bill, and, presenting it to me, said, "I alius 
likes to pay the parson myself ; it makes me feel so 
joyful-like." And to this, with increased exuber- 
ance of feeling, he added his usual "Praise the 
Lord!" 

Sister Dauntless received from me a paper au- 
thorizing her to collect for church furniture in St. 
John's. When she returned, finding she had suc- 
ceeded very well, I congratulated her accordingly. 
But noticing an expression of something like dis- 
appointment on her face, I asked her, "Are you not 
satisfied?" 

"Satisfied? No! I called on the governor, but 
he was away from home." 

"The governor !" How triumphant Sister Daunt- 
less would have been if she could have gone among 
her neighbors and friends and said, "The governor's 
name is on my list." 

Brother Dolorous was a collector of another sort. 
148 



The Skipper Parson 

A collector, save the mark ! His duty was to gather 
in the contributions toward "ministerial support." 
He complained to me one day that the young men 
were remiss, and added, with grim, unconscious 
humor, "I tells them that they will want the parson 
to bury them some day." Surely our well-meaning 
friend was skilled in the art of how "not to do 
it." We wondered no more that he was such a 
failure. 

Sister Garrulous prided herself on her "talent," 
as she did not hesitate to describe her talking ability, 
pronouncing the word with unctuous complacency. 
Sister Garrulous was not an unlovable person, least 
of all was she an evil-disposed person (quite the 
contrary), but she was a victim of that fatal error 
in religion of putting the emphasis upon the wrong 
place, hers taking the particular form of emphasizing 
words rather than deeds. The balance between 
words and deeds — find it, and you have a perfect 
character. A quaint old English poem strikes the 
happy mean: 

"Say Well is good, but Do Well is better ; 
Do Well seems spirit, Say Well the letter. 
Say Well is godly, and helpeth to please, 
But Do Well lives godly, and gives the world ease. 
Say Well to silence sometimes is bound, 
But Do Well is free upon every ground. 
Say Well has friends, some here, some there, 
But Do Well is welcome everywhere. 
By Say Well to many God's Word cleaves, 
But for lack of Do Well it often leaves. 
If Say Well and Do Well were bound in one frame, 
Then all were done, all were won, and gotten were gain." 
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The Skipper Parson 

Sister Niggardly, judged by her emotional 

speeches, would at any time die for the church; 

judged by her givings, her regard for it was very 

slight. We were painting and otherwise trying to 

improve the appearance of a gloomy looking church. 

Others had given with liberality and cheerfulness. 

" Sister Niggardly loves the church, she will give 

much," was the thought of the unselfish worker as 

she wended her way toward the door, thinking of 

Christ's struggling church, often "least" in the eyes 

of man, and finding comfort in the words that never 

grow dim in this dark world, "Inasmuch as ye did 

it unto one of these my brethren, even these least, 

ye did it unto me." Our enthusiastic worker could 

scarcely tell her errand quickly enough, for very joy. 

Poor thing! how little she thought her cherished 

hopes were to be rudely shattered, and her own 

sensitive feelings crushed. Sister Niggardly, having 

listened in icy silence, gave as her answer a cruel 

"No." If her reason were required, it was this: 

"Many souls have been saved in a whitewashed 

chapel." In that little society the happiness of their 

good work was somewhat marred by this incident, 

and the people said, or if they did not say it, they 

thought it : "When the whitewash was needed Sister 

Niggardly never gave anything toward the cost, 

and was never present to help when the work was 

to be done." Yet Sister Niggardly did not cease 

to exhort sinners with tears, and to declare her love 

for her Father's house. When one purse is closed 

God opens another. The work was accomplished, 

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The Skipper Parson 



and a little company rejoiced together. Only one 
was left out in the cold — by her own selfish action. 

Brother and Sister Austerity were very forbidding 
persons. Their character was a compound of pride 
and piety, narrowness and zeal. They did not repre- 
sent, by any means, the average Newfoundlander, 
whose nature is bright and sunny, and who, when 
influenced by religion, develops a more attractive 
personality. But once in a way, especially in the 
more remote corners, Brother and Sister Austerity 
would surely be met. They gave visible expression 
in their unloving and unlovely lives to false notions 
in religion. In the eyes of Brother and Sister 
Austerity, the cultivation of flowers was idolatry, 
the hanging of pictures on the walls of a home was 
pride, and the games of little children were "idle 
tricks," "carrying on their works." I have actually 
seen a father, a great strapping fellow six feet high, 
"cuff" his boys for daring to give vent to their 
inborn love of play — "idleness," in his distorted 
view. So men misunderstand and misrepresent the 
Lord Jesus, Not in Newfoundland only, but 
throughout the world are some who, falsely thinking 
they thereby please God, choose the shadow rather 
than the light, and make a merit of their gloom. 

Brother Kindheart was a complete stranger to me. 
But whatever his nationality or creed, he spoke a 
language I could understand and appreciate. If a 
paradox be permitted, he spoke the language of 
loving deeds. Strange to say, it is Brother Kind- 
heart's peculiarity to show himself in the hour of 

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need — visiting you in your affliction. At other times 
he is lost in invisibility; but when you need him he 
never fails to appear. I stood in need, and sure 
enough he came, though I was not expecting him 
at all, seeing no sign of friendly help. 

Picture me in disconsolation and dejection watch- 
ing the ferryboat I had missed, her full sails half 
a mile away, nearing the opposite island. I had 
walked five miles, on a hot day, too, and had busi- 
ness in Greenspond. Inveighing at my ill luck, 
disappointed, I turned to go back, when a man from 
the ship-building yonder approached. 

Smiling, the stranger said : "I see you have missed 
the ferry, sir; jump into my boat quick, and we'll 
catch her before she leaves the island." 

"But you are leaving your work." 

"Never mind that." 

"You are certainly very kind." 

"What are we in the world for but to be kind to 
one another?" 

In this way Brother Kindheart saved my day for 
me, and won my blessing. I have not seen him 
since ; he passed me like a ship in the night ; showed 
his lights — ay, stopped to help me in a difficulty — 
and then was lost in the darkness. But that cup of 
cold water has not been forgotten by me, and the 
Master will not forget it, though done "unto me, 
who am less than the least of all saints." 

Cruising round has thrown me among "all sorts 
and conditions of men." I have been their com- 
panion in travel and shared their hospitality, and 

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I have invariably found that kind words and kind 
acts are current coin, through the world-wide realm 
of common humanity. 

Sadly strange it is that Religion — than which 
when true nothing is lovelier — sometimes distorts 
and spoils the man; as witness frowning Bigotry, 
the misadventure of religion. 

I have few pleasanter recollections of Newfound- 
land than of hospitalities accepted and returned by 
men schooled in other ways of thinking than mine. 
I like the article in Brother Kindheart's creed: 
"What are we in the world for but to be kind to 
one another?" 

"All other joys grow less 
To the one joy of doing kindnesses." 

If in these sidelights of character I have sketched 
faithfully, it has been done with a loving hand; 
fully recognizing in each of my friends that "e'en 
his failings leaned to virtue's side." 

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CHAPTER XV 
Trinity 

"0, dream of joy, is this indeed 

The lighthouse top I see? 
Is this the hill? is this the kirk? 
Is this mine own countree?" — Coleridge. 

I can understand any native of Trinity, returning 
from afar, speaking to himself in words like those 
at the head of this chapter. The hill, the lighthouse, 
and the kirk can be seen far out in the bay, and at 
the mouth of the harbor the scene of beauty is 
enough to make any patriot heart swell with pride 
and joy. The writer's "own countree" is far across 
the ocean, but outside of that "beautiful isle of the 
sea" he knows few lovelier spots than Trinity and 
neighborhood. 

The summer of 1888 saw us installed in the 
parsonage at Trinity, intrusted with the care of 
the circuit of which this is the center. The Meth- 
odist minister leaves an old circuit with chastened 
feelings, sometimes with tears, and enters upon a 
new sphere in faith and hope, sometimes, in spite 
of all, in fear and trembling. We came to Trinity 
with pleasing anticipations, which time fully justi- 
fied. The memory of our three years there is like 
a summer breeze from a southern land. Two 
of our children will always say of Trinity, "mine 

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own countree." Yonder is the house in which they 
were born; the kirk in which they were baptized; 
these are the fair scenes on which they first opened 
their eyes. 

Trinity was a little town of about eight hundred 
persons; but just across the harbor, in Trinity 
North, there was a population of about one thou- 
sand, and the adjacent district was fairly populous. 
Trinity was the market town for the north side of 
the bay. The coastal steamers called regularly, 
while numerous fishing schooners and a few foreign 
vessels were frequently seen in the harbor. One of 
the largest merchants in the island had his premises 
here, and there was something of the air of business 
importance about the old town. It boasted a little 
paper called the Trinity Record, and we were daily 
in receipt of the world's news by telegraph. There 
were three churches — Anglican, Roman Catholic, 
and Methodist. 

My circuit consisted of three places outside of 
Trinity, the farthest only six or seven miles distant, 
all of them being reached by good roads with houses 
all the way. 

Trinity, therefore, was a great contrast to my two 
former circuits. Here we pursued the even tenor of 
our way ; hardship and adventure did not enter into 
our lives, simply the calls and claims everywhere 
heard in this sinning, sorrowing world; and we 
found these enough: 

"Room to deny ourselves; a road 
To bring us daily nearer God." 
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Trinity, as we have seen, is "beautiful for situa- 
tion." The town sweetly nestles at the foot of a 
great hill, and from the "crashing thunder of the 
rolling wave" she is protected by the great head- 
lands of her noble harbor. From Rider's Hill there 
is one of the finest views imaginable. Before us 
lies the magnificent bay bearing the name of the 
town, running inland from seventy to eighty miles, 
and reaching across from fifteen to twenty miles. 
One sees the waves of this noble bay dancing in the 
sunlight, and the white sails of a tossing vessel sil- 
houetted against the sun, and perhaps the snowy 
foam and parting of the waves of an incoming 
steamer. The great arms of this remarkable har- 
bor, one of the finest in the world, almost encircle 
us in their friendly clasp. If we turn our gaze 
inland, the diversity of mountain, lake, stream, and 
forest shows many a bit of quiet scenic beauty, and 
a view, as a whole, of the finest description. The 
very contrasts of the scene stir our thoughts and 
move our hearts in devotion before Him whose 
temple 

"Is the arch 
Of yon unmeasured sky." 

We think of them as we beheld them then — the 
flying spray of the dashing breakers and the still 
waters of the sleeping lake ; the solemn grandeur of 
the everlasting hills, and, down below, the dimin- 
utive buildings of man; the delicate blue and soft 
white clouds of the heavens, and the gray or green 
of the ocean breaking into snowy whiteness on the 



The Skipper Parson 



rocky shores. This as we saw it many a time was 
a scene fair to look upon and hard to forget. 

Dwelling by the sea, though safe behind the 
mighty fastnesses of a rocky coast, we grew familiar 
with and loved more and more its ceaseless music. 
The world is God's great cathedral and the sea is 
one of its organs, as some one has finely suggested. 
It is a wonderful organ, and its music answers the 
varying feelings of the human heart. In its softer 
lappings it is as gentle as a lullaby, while in its angry 
moods its tones are fierce to awfulness. Its voice 
changes oft, sometimes sounding lament, sometimes 
roaring victory. Its far-off cadences are whispers 
of a better land beyond the horizon ; and, under the 
influence of its inspiring melody, the spirit in its 
wish to greet friends gone before has often made 
in imagination the long voyage which we must 
sooner or later make in reality. O, yes ; we love the 
sea. 

The Methodist church in Trinity was conspicuous 
in more ways than one. It was a large church, 
painted white and adorned with a handsome spire. 
Standing on a hill, it was the most conspicuous 
building in the place, and was the first object 
discerned by vessels making for the harbor. Looked 
at now from the intervening years, it stands quite 
as conspicuous, but in far other ways. A good 
site and a fine appearance, important as these things 
may be, are not after all the main requirements of 
a church. Within, the edifice was big, and bare, 
and cold. If all the people in Trinity at any 

i57 



The Skipper Parson 

time wished to worship within its walls, as far 
as accommodation was concerned, they might have 
done so. Our congregation of some sixty or sev- 
enty persons seemed lost in its auditorium. The 
preacher in turn must have seemed lost in his 
lofty pulpit, with its dreary background of a 
gallery in which there was never a soul, the choir 
having forsaken it for the body of the church. 
This they did out of pure compassion for the 
preacher, installing themselves where he could see 
them, and where they might add their little quota 
toward swelling the congregation. How he thanked 
them in his heart for their goodness! With its 
heavy colored-glass windows, "casting a dim reli- 
gious light," dark-stained wood, lofty ceiling show- 
ing the naked rafters, it was an interior preeminently 
somber. The gloomy shades were depressing to 
preacher and people alike. The exposed situation 
of the church made it the plaything, as it were, of 
the winds, and when a gale blew the noise above 
and around suggested a ship at sea, and the preacher 
who could then be heard must have a giant's voice. 
We struggled on in proud disdain of these incon- 
veniences until winter came, and then it was in 
vainly striving to keep warm that we had to own 
ourselves conquered. Happily for us, we possessed 
near by a neat little schoolhouse. Curious as it may 
appear, the big church was locked up for the winter, 
and we all seemed relieved and content in the small, 
unpretentious, but bright and comfortable school- 
room. But the worst has not yet been told. There 

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was a heavy debt at a high rate of interest! This 
recital may suggest many another woe of the same 
kind — big church, small congregation, and heavy 
debt. The sorrow of it who can utter it ? But little 
by little, through a number of pastorates, the debt 
was removed, the church was made over to suit 
actual needs, and doubtless preacher and people are 
now happy. Their faith as a grain of mustard seed 
removed a mountain of difficulty and despair — yea, 
cast it into the sea. 

During our three years in Trinity we enjoyed 
a quiet, steady, and progressive work, with no sad 
aftermath of retrogression and declension. Some of 
the dear young people gathered into the church have 
gone home, others are adorning the doctrine of God 
in lives of usefulness, and one is at present a proba- 
tioner in the ministry of the Methodist Church in his 
native land. Here in the early part of 1889 we or ~ 
ganized one of the first Epworth Leagues in New- 
foundland. Besides the devotional department, we 
worked, in connection with the literary department, a 
reading circle, using Ward and Lock's cheap edition 
of great characters, including John Wesley, Chris- 
topher Columbus, Sir William Arkwright, Martin 
Luther, George Stephenson, and others. They were 
aspiring young people, and it was a pleasure to help 
them. 

Among a number of Christian families loyal to 
Christ and his church one stands out in bold out- 
line. They loved the Saviour and they loved his 
church; not their words only, but their lives pro- 

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claimed it. The aged couple were true to the tradi- 
tions of a long life, while their love to Christ and 
all that pertained to him grew in strength and beauty 
with the years. Theirs was a home in which the 
minister was always a welcome guest, welcome in 
the name of the Lord. The elect lady of the house 
was one of those in the bright succession immor- 
talized in the gospels "which ministered unto them 
of their substance." Jasper Lucas, the head of that 
household, did very much to brighten the gloom of 
the church at Trinity in those days when the shadow 
was dark upon it. Lie was the unpaid sexton for 
years — I cannot tell how many. There he stood at 
his post like a soldier on duty. The church was 
seldom if ever opened without his being there. His 
were the hands that opened the "house," that hoisted 
the flag and hauled it down, and his was the loving 
forethought that anticipated every possible or imag- 
inable need of minister and congregation. What 
Jasper could not get or do it was useless to think 
of. No price could have procured such services. 
The mint-mark of the king was upon them: "a 
work and labor of love." He liked the old way of 
a flag to which he had been used, and when a bell 
was mentioned said, "If people won't come to 
church, no bell will toll them thither." He had a 
grateful realization of God's pardoning mercy, and 
a strong sense of the heroic as a Christian confessor, 
as was seen in the words with which he so often 
closed his short, heartfelt prayer or his inspiring 
testimony : 

1 60 



j 

j 



The Skipper Parson 



"Salvation in His name there is ; 

Salvation from sin, death, and hell. 
Salvation into glorious bliss, 

How great salvation, who can tell. 
But all he hath for mine I claim 
I dare believe in Jesus' name." 

Their only daughter, a much-prized school 
teacher, was simply ceaseless in Christian activ- 
ities. The debt-burdened church was an object of 
her self-sacrificing devotion, and it was owing to 
such as she that in the end the incubus was lifted, 
and the cloud passed away in a clearer light. Even 
the adopted daughter caught the family spirit, and 
vied with the rest in good works. Jasper Lucas 
seemed to have realized the poet's prayer: 

"A saint indeed I long to be, 
And lead my faithful family 
In the celestial road." 

The "faithful family" multiplied many times is 
what we want ; the lif eblood of the church, the mak- 
ing of the nation. 

Social relations in Trinity were free and friendly. 
Between the three churches there seemed to be a 
tacit understanding that each should keep to its 
providential path and do its providential work; 
therefore there were no unpleasant incidents. Out- 
side of that was the utmost play of human kindness, 
which spoke for the good sense and the heart of 
the people, and added another agreeable feature to 
life in Trinity. It was a wholesome and happy soci- 
ety, too, as I always think when different person- 



The Skipper Parson 



ages, figures in the little town, come back to my 
mind. 

The first I seem to see and greet is Trinity's man 
of leisure. With means and ample time at his 
command, he cultivated the amenities of life and — 
flowers. He could not be anything but agreeable, 
and his frequent visits are remembered with pleasure. 
A touch of the artistic, a dash of old-fashioned 
courtesy, and a bit of the ideal — these he seemed to 
bring with him; and it was good, for in the work- 
aday world we are apt to forget this side of life. 

Then there was the magistrate, a typical English- 
man. We have grateful recollections of a bountiful 
hospitality dispensed by his gracious lady, and none 
appeared to enjoy such occasions more than the 
worthy magistrate himself, who possessed the gift 
of sharing in the happiness he dispensed to others. 
At a public gathering — a meeting of citizens, as- 
sembling of court, a governor's visit — he was in 
his element, and conducted himself as to the manner 
born. An amiable characteristic of his was this, 
that he made a point of always consulting the clergy 
as to arrangements, and that with unfailing courtesy 
he invariably apportioned them a prominent part in 
all public functions. 

For "the beloved physician" of Trinity we have 
only unstinted admiration. As there are born 
orators, poets, and artists, so there are born physi- 
cians, and our doctor was one of these. As a poor 
boy he worked his way up fortune's ladder; and, 

remarkable to say, he graduated in no college, but 

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The Skipper Parson 



in a doctor's office, and in the school of experience. 
This would be impossible nowadays, and at no time 
could be called, from the public view, a safe course 
to pursue; but it may be said that among many 
failures he stood out a brilliant success. It is his 
justification that not only the public but the medical 
faculty of Newfoundland held him in high esteem. 
His industry, kindly care and patience, tender spirit, 
quiet, manly bearing, showed him the Christian gen- 
tleman as well as the skillful physician. He had 
the entire practice of Trinity and district. His 
career affords another instance, among so many, 
of great achievement against heavy odds. 

Our life in Trinity moved along quietly and 
peacefully as a stream, but as the calmest streams 
have their babbling places so even we had our times 
of gentle excitement. 

An election was one of these. Anywhere and 
everywhere it is the nature of an election to cause 
an excitement. We attended crowded meetings in 
the Orange Hall, and had the privilege of hearing 
the leading statesmen of Newfoundland, including 
Sir William Whiteway, Sir Robert Bond, Sir Rob- 
ert Thorburn, and the Hon. Alfred Morine. We 
had the pleasure of meeting most of these gentlemen 
afterward in the church or parsonage. 

The visit of the governor of the colony occasioned 

an even greater excitement than election. It was 

then that Trinity appeared at its best. Flags waved 

their welcome everywhere, and the old cannon 

roared a greeting in its own fashion. The streets 

163 



The Skipper Parson 



were lined with people whose hurrahs told the rep- 
resentative of the queen how intensely loyal they 
were. "Ye Oldest Colony" is nothing if not loyal. 
"The old island story," the grand old queen, were 
themes they never tired of hearing or speaking 
about. The very mention of the name England, 
Great Britain, like the sight of the flag, made their 
hearts leap. When the governor and his party had 
landed, after introductions, they were immediately 
conducted to the courthouse, where the magistrate 
read a complimentary address, and his excellency 
favored us with a speech. In a practical address 
he pointed out that the people might profitably give 
much more attention to farming, and that the coun- 
try was adapted to sheep raising on a large scale. 
Then the schools and churches were visited. The 
school children sang very prettily, eliciting warm 
praise from his excellency. In the Roman Cath- 
olic chapel it was amusing to hear the gentleman, 
who in the priest's absence acted as chaperon, say, 
every time he addressed the governor, "Your rever- 
ence." The Methodist church, brightened by the 
summer sun, never looked better than it did that day. 
Our veteran volunteer sexton was at his post, the 
surest guarantee that all was in order. Smiling 
proudly, he was presented to the governor. We did 
not expect anything but compliments on such a day, 
and therefore bowed assent to his excellency's re- 
mark that he admired dark shades in a church. The 
evening brought festivities, and so ended a bright 
day. 

164 , 



The Skipper Parson 



But the most frequent, as by far the most prized, 
ripples of excitement were occasioned by the regular 
weekly call of the coastal boat. Newfoundlanders 
are generally said to be hospitable, and in this they 
are not belied. Only those who have traveled in 
the country know to what an extent this trait is 
indulged, and how hearty and genuine it is. About 
the time the steamer is expected, in nearly every 
house the kettle is sure to be boiling and the teapot 
ready for possible guests. A crowd gathers on the 
wharf, and grows rapidly as the steamer draws 
near. The steamer will be in port an hour or more, 
so that there is every opportunity for passengers 
to run ashore and visit their friends and acquaint- 
ances. Every voyager knows how recuperative it 
is to get ashore for a brief interval, with its welcome 
exercise, and, always in Newfoundland, its refresh- 
ing cup of tea. If the opportunity of landing is 
prized by the passengers, that of receiving guests 
and meeting friends is more prized by the dwellers 
in those small coastal towns. But sometimes they 
may be taken by surprise, as we were in our first 
days in Trinity. We had only arrived on the circuit 
a few days before, and were engaged in unpacking 
our cases — the noise of which probably drowned 
the steamer's whistle — when a loud knock was 
heard at the door. Opening it, I found quite a 
crowd on the veranda, and was greeted with, "Well, 
James, how are you?" in the familiar and hearty 
tones of the Rev. George Bond. He immediately 

introduced me to Senator Macdonald, of Toronto, 

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The Skipper Parson 

and his daughter, and besides these there were a 
number of brother ministers. If surprised, we were 
gratified, and any embarrassment was forgotten in 
the friendly intercourse that followed. Senator 
Macdonald was enraptured with the scenery, and as 
he stood on the veranda of the parsonage, looking 
out on one of the arms of the noble harbor, he com- 
pared it to Lake Geneva, Switzerland. Several of 
our visitors had a run up Rider's Hill, and from its 
summit enjoyed the grand prospect. These flying 
visits, quite frequent, gave us the greatest pleasure, 
and left happy memories. This was the first and 
last time we were "caught napping" in Trinity. The 
departure of the steamer left an afterglow from the 
visit of our friends; and also a heavy mail — our 
best excitement. 

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The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XVI 
Sorrows of the Sea 

"There is sorrow on the sea; it cannot be quiet." — Jer. 
49- 23. 

"And there was no more sea." — Rev. 21. 1. 

English Harbor was one of the appointments 
of Trinity Circuit. Here we had our largest con- 
gregation, numbering about two hundred. The 
church, which was a handsome building, was a proof 
of the "cunning workmanship" of the men of the 
congregation, whose own hands erected it. There 
were a number of deeply spiritual and gifted men 
in this church. It was a singing congregation ; they 
sang as the birds sang; music was in them, and 
nature was their teacher. An old saint, over ninety 
years old, still with a wonderfully clear and sweet 
voice, acted as precentor. Wesley's hymns they all 
knew and loved. Their favorite tunes were the old 
ones with the long-drawn-out repeats. Everybody 
sang, and the effect was uplifting; sometimes it 
touched the sublime. The majority were Chris- 
tians, and the words of these sweet songs came from 
the heart ; it was this, even more than their musical 
ability, that made their singing so effective. Per- 
sons sometimes came from a distance to hear this 
congregation sing. It was a happiness to preach to 

such a people. They rewarded the preacher with 

167 



The Skipper Parson 



eager, even strained, attention. The prayer meet- 
ings were also memorable, three parts of the con- 
gregation usually remaining and the singing and 
the devotional exercises never flagging. They were 
quickly responsive, and when truth smote the con- 
science, or touched the heart, they acted on the 
divine impulse, and revivals were common. 

On Sunday, February 8, 1891, we commenced 
special services here, and continued them through 
the week, with much blessing. On the following 
Sunday, though an extraordinarily cold day, as 
noted in a previous chapter, and stormy withal, we 
had three fair congregations. It was a high day. In 
the afternoon we had prayer meeting, and the Lord's 
Supper, of which converts partook. At the close 
of the evening service these young disciples gave 
their first testimony for Christ as recognized mem- 
bers of his church. 

A sad feature of English Harbor was the number 
of widows and fatherless families. This was a dis- 
tressing peculiarity of every part of Newfoundland, 
but in no other place have we seen so large a propor- 
tion of homes without husband and father. From 
boyhood these men had loved and followed the sea. 
They had done business upon its waters, learned to 
sport upon its waves and defy its storms ; and at last 
they had found a resting-place in its still and silent 
depths. 

On the sixth of January, 1882, well remembered 

as a perfect winter's night, moonlight and calm, the 

steamship Lion left St. John's for Trinity, and was 

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The Skipper Parson 

never heard of again. No one survived; one body 
alone was recovered, mute in death, with no secrets 
to disclose. Nothing was ever found that shed light 
on the steamer's mysterious disappearance. Fifty 
loved ones were waited for in vain, among whom 
were the Rev. C. H. Foster, the young Episcopalian 
clergyman of Trinity, and his bride, who, in this 
ill-fated ship, took their first united voyage, and 
their last. February 27, 1892, was a dark day for 
English Harbor, when twenty-four fishermen, with 
whom we had often enjoyed sweet fellowship, per- 
ished in the bay. They had been seal-hunting in 
their boats. The morning was fine and mild, and 
they sailed out a long distance, where seals were 
plentiful. At about 11 a. m. a sudden storm of 
wind came on, with heavy frost and snow. Several 
boats with greatest difficulty managed to reach land, 
but each boat had two or three dead from cold and 
exhaustion, while others died afterward from the 
effects. Some boats were never heard of more; 
four brothers perished in one, and a father and two 
sons in another. A father and three sons were on 
a pan of ice all night, and only rescued on Sunday 
morning. One of the young men died, and the 
others suffered amputations which maimed them for 
life. What closing scenes of Christian triumph 
must those boats and that ice pan have witnessed. 
We are reminded of the words of one of the noblest 
navigators that ever visited Newfoundland, Sir 
Humphrey Gilbert, and who himself went to heaven 

by the way of the sea : "W e are as near heaven by 

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sea as by land," words "well beseeming a soldier 
resolute in Jesus Christ." Such were most, we trust 
all, of our friends, "soldiers resolute in Jesus 
Christ," and with like words upon their lips they 
doubtless went home to God. In Wesleyville it was 
our schoolmaster, in Trinity it was our editor, and 
so the sad story ran, the sea ever and anon claiming 
a victim; and, as if not satisfied with the ones and 
the twos, occasionally opening wide its mouth to 
swallow a host, as in the disasters above named. 
If it was sad for those to be taken, it was sadder 
for these to be left. Here, more than in most places, 
we could appreciate that always and everywhere 
acceptable piety which James describes as "pure and 
undefiled religion" — "to visit the widows and fath- 
erless in their affliction, and to keep himself un- 
spotted from the world." 

While on the Wesleyville Circuit one of the sad- 
dest and hardest duties of my life was laid upon me. 
Our Sunday school superintendent had left us in the 
flush of health for a seal-hunting trip in a Wesley- 
ville schooner. One quiet Saturday at dusk, some 
weeks after this, I was seated in my study absorbed 
in meditation on the morrow's sermons, when a 
sharp knock and the simultaneous entrance of a 
messenger with a telegram in his hand brought me 
face to face with another sorrow and tragedy such, 
alas ! as are so common in life. A telegram in Wes- 
leyville! What evil did it portend? "Yes; it is 
addressed to me." In a moment the envelope is 

torn open. Only a few words, but what a shock they 

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The Skipper Parson 



bring to my heart ! and, O, the sorrow these soulless 
words will soon bring to one who does not know 
that she is a zvidow! The telegram told that our 
beloved brother and Sunday school superintendent 
had met his death by accident on shipboard, and 
that his mates had taken him to St. John's for 
burial. The message also asked me to break the 
evil tidings to his wife. Here was a summons to 
a trying duty. I should have been glad if another 
had been asked ; but no, the request was to me. Duty 
is sacred, whether pleasant or unpleasant. I must 
obey; I dare not postpone the performance of a 
Christian office; but O, how utterly unprepared I 
felt myself for a task so weighty! What could I 
say ? How could I best make known the sad news ? 
Praying God that words and wisdom might be given 
me I set forth. It was quite dark when I emerged 
from my boarding house. I had about a mile and 
a half to walk, along the shore, with only a house 
here and there. As I slowly walked, the music of 
the sad, wild waves breaking on the rugged shore 
sounded like a funeral march. Nearing the house, 
I pictured to my mind its happy inmates, talking, 
perchance, this moment of the home-coming of the 
absent one; and when I remembered the telegram 
in my pocket my courage almost failed me. For the 
serious and difficult duty that had so unexpectedly 
fallen to my lot I was conscious of only one quali- 
fication — sympathy. Timidly knocking at the door, 
I was soon seated in the kitchen with the family. 

I saw that my coming at that unusual hour caused 

171 



The Skipper Parson 



surprise ; first curiosity, and then gradually anxiety. 
There was the wife of the dead man, his son and 
his wife, and a child or two asleep. Poor people, 
how I pitied them ! I cannot remember what I said, 
but I know I spoke about heaven. Perhaps it was 
something in my manner, perhaps some word I 
dropped, I cannot say; but in a moment the poor 
soul, the bereaved wife, clasped her hands, and, in 
a look I shall never forget, exclaimed, "O, tell me 
what has happened!" 

Very gently, and with some consolatory words 
of Holy Writ, the truth was told — her husband slept 
in his tomb, but his spirit was with God who gave it. 
We draw a curtain over a sorrow too sacred for the 
public eye — a new-made widow's grief. 

The tragedy seemed greater, not less, as the days 
passed on. She was a second wife, and now hus- 
bandless and childless she felt herself alone. Con- 
siderably past life's meridian, she found herself 
without a home to call her own, and apparently 
without any ties of affection to keep her among her 
late husband's people. As most would do under like 
circumstances, she sought once more the home of 
her childhood. It was pathetic to tears to see her, 
some time later, on board a vessel, with her few 
belongings around her, bound across the bay to her 
father's house. Methinks that only in the "Father's 
house on high" many of earth's sorrowing ones will 
find rest. There — O, blessed words! — God "shall 
wipe away every tear from their eyes; and death 
shall be no more." 

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The Skipper Parson 



Returning again to English Harbor: it was al- 
ways a sorrow to me to see in the congregation 
so many women in the habiliments of widow's 
mourning ; to find in the home so often the "vacant 
chair," and that, too, of the breadwinner. The sea 
was this people's best friend ; they were born within 
the sound of its roar, and cradled to its music, and 
they spent their lives upon its bosom. It was also 
their greatest enemy. Had it not robbed many a 
home of loved ones? Are they not sleeping on its 
sandy bed, by its seaweed entwined, in its waters 
submerged, until the angel's trump bid the sea re- 
store its dead? Walking on the highlands leading 
out of English Harbor, and looking far into the bay 
and the ocean beyond, I have sometimes thought 
of Him whose only voice the waves of the sea 
obeyed, and of the day when he will speak 
again and the waves will subside, and the sea will 
restore its long-kept secrets and its multitude 
of dead, when it will vanish forever at the sound 
of his voice. 

"There is sorrow written upon the sea, 
And dark and stormy its waves must be. 
It cannot be quiet, it cannot sleep, 
This dark, relentless, and stormy deep. 
But a day shall come, a blessed day, 
When earthly sorrow shall pass away, 
When the hour of anguish shall turn to peace, 
And even the roar of the waves shall cease. 
Then from out its deepest, darkest bed, 
Old ocean shall render up its dead, 
And, freed from the weight of human woes, 
Shall quickly sink in its last repose. 

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The Skipper Parson 



No sorrow shall e'er be written then, 

In the depths of the sea or the hearts of men; 

But heaven and earth renewed shall shine, 

All clothed in glory and light divine. 

Then where shall the billows of ocean be? 

Gone, for in heaven shall be no more sea." 

I have now a sorrow of the sea of a totally dif- 
ferent kind to relate. The place which was the scene 
of this disgraceful event shall be nameless. New- 
foundlanders are often characterized by emotional- 
ism in religion, but they are usually intelligent ; and 
when a warm heart is wedded to a clear head some- 
thing very near perfection is found. This is the 
character of Newfoundland Methodism in the main. 
If, however, we found a sensuous nature combined 
with a darkened understanding, then we might look 
out for spiritual disaster and moral collapse. The 
people of this little place never seemed to rise above 
a low level of gospel influences, which stirred their 
feelings without apparently influencing their moral 
character, as this event proved. A vessel was 
wrecked on their shore. The instinct of plunder 
seized some of the people at once. The poor ship- 
wrecked mariners could do nothing but stand aside 
and behold sorrow added to misfortune in the pil- 
laging of their goods by these wretched characters. 
Ministers expostulated with the people, the constable 
went, and a search was made; but the stolen goods 
could not be found. It was surmised that they were 
hidden in the woods and buried in the earth, and 
nothing would make these wreckers give them up. 
Barely half of the people were even nominally under 

174 



The Skipper Parson 



the influence of our church. The few who were 
members and shared in this crime we publicly ex- 
pelled. Another church divided the field with us, 
and felt equally with ourselves the disgrace and sor- 
row of the evil deed that brought a stain upon the 
place and upon religion. Let us hope that ultimately 
this event burned into their consciousness the truth 
that religion means, first and last, doing the will of 
God. In all my experience in Newfoundland I never 
saw or heard of another instance of this sort. The 
people everywhere were kind and humane, and their 
religion made for righteousness. This, then, we 
conclude was the exception that proved the rule. 

The time came when we had to leave Trinity and 
Trinity Circuit. Never shall we forget the farewell 
of our warm-hearted friends. They assisted us in 
packing, sent a horse and cart for the conveyance of 
our goods to the wharf, and looked after them there. 
The steamer not arriving at 10 p. m., the hour she 
was expected, they remained with us until she came 
to the wharf, at 3 a. m., when they saw our luggage 
and ourselves on board and the steamer began to 
move away. Then, and not until then, did they 
speak the word "Farewell !" Thus ended one of our 
happiest pastorates, and one of the brightest chap- 
ters in our lives. 

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The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XVII 
A Voyage North 

"God shield the ships, and bless the men 

Whose faithful watch makes sure the light, 
Until they reach that haven where 
They need no lighthouse — there's no night." 

— Mrs. Roger son. 

As the steamer left the harbor at Trinity that July 
morning in 189 1 her prow was turned northward, 
and we began our voyage to Little Bay, by Confer- 
ence appointment our new field of labor, our new 
home. 

Little Bay is about three hundred and sixty miles 
north of St. John's, not as the crow flies, but as 
measured by the steamer's course, which follows the 
sinuosities of the coast in order to make the differ- 
ent ports of call. From Trinity the passage means 
a distance of three hundred miles. 

How can I describe this delightful voyage? We 
had brilliant summer weather, a fine steamer, and 
the best of company. Among the passengers were 
a number of American university men bound for 
Labrador for pleasure combined with scientific in- 
vestigation. The round trip by steamer, from St. 
John's to Labrador and back, is an excursion phys- 
ically and mentally bracing and altogether enjoy- 
able. The coastal steamers in the summer are usually 

crowded with business men and tourists. Labrador 

176 




REVS. HARRIS, INDOE, AND BROWNING ON A MISSIONARY MEETING TOUR 

(See page 194) 



The Skipper Parson 



in the long winter is lone and desolate; but in the 
summer it is bright with sunshine, and presents 
many lively scenes on sea and land. 

In steaming north in the summer many of those 
great wonders of nature, icebergs, are encountered. 
Like a deposed king seeking refuge in a foreign land, 
the majestic iceberg drifts aimlessly in strange 
waters, far from its birthplace in the arctic regions, 
and its doom seems a tragic one. Stranded, as we 
have often seen them off Trinity harbor, they melt 
and fall to pieces; but not without loud protesta- 
tions, for they break with a noise resembling an 
exploding cannon. 

Dr. Kane describes the somersault of an iceberg : 
"Nothing can be more imposing than the rotation 
of a berg. I have often watched one rocking its 
earth-stained sides in steadily deepening curves, as if 
gathering energy for some desperate gymnastic feat, 
and then turning itself slowly over in a monster 
somersault, and vibrating as its head rose in the new 
element, like a leviathan shaking the water from its 
crest." 

Icebergs are broken pieces of glaciers, huge masses 
of ice, only about one eighth being above the surface 
of the water. They are of every imaginable shape, 
and of varying size, sometimes miles in length, and 
rising from two hundred and fifty feet to three hun- 
dred feet above the sea. 

Starting from Greenland and floating southward 

along the coast of Newfoundland, and out farther 

in the track of the Atlantic steamers, they are objects 

177 



The Skipper Parson 



of much dread to navigators in these waters. "Woe 
to the steamer that shall crash against the sides of 
an iceberg or upon its hidden base, for as it rides 
the restless current and is borne to slow dissolution 
in the warm embrace of the Gulf Stream, it is as 
solid as the cliffs of Dover or the frowning preci- 
pices of the (Newfoundland) coast, and may spread 
about it sunken reefs as wide as perilous." 

During our first day at sea we passed many ice- 
bergs, and they were the objects of wonder and 
admiration to the crowd that viewed them from the 
steamer's deck. Sometimes they were far off, and 
field glasses were brought out ; sometimes we passed 
one after another close enough to satisfy the curious 
and aesthetic. This was a spectacular feast indeed 
— the foaming, flashing, sunlit waves of the wide 
expanse of blue waters, on whose proud bosom rode 
silent but regal these spurned kings of arctic empires. 

Their beauty and magnificence who can depict? 

They are like edifices decked with spires, turrets, 

and towers. Some in proportion, grace, and beauty 

resemble a great cathedral; others, being tunneled, 

a fine arcade. Unlike any building of man, however, 

they are ever changing their configuration; while 

melting and breaking, the work of destruction has 

begun and proceeds apace. But even in this respect 

may there not be a closer resemblance than at first 

appears? Do not the most solid works of masonry 

fall into ruin? After all, it is only a question of 

time. Will not centuries dissolve the cathedrals 

as days or months the iceberg? In the delicate 

178 



The Skipper Parson 



beauty of their coloring they have an additional 
fascination. The bluish-green tints, the snowy 
whiteness, the glistening purity, make the iceberg 
one of earth's fairest objects. 

"These are 
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls 
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
And throned eternity in icy halls 
Of cold sublimity." 

Catalina, "a harbor of refuge at the entrance of 
Trinity Bay," is our first port of call. The various 
buildings stretch for about a mile on the north side 
of the harbor; and I always thought that the ex- 
pressive Scotch phrase, "long toon," described the 
place very well. 

We now enter Bonavista Bay, and soon find our 
good ship anchored off the town of Bonavista, wdiich 
is beautifully situated in a fertile district, and has 
a population of 3,550. Nature has not provided 
Bonavista with one of those remarkably fine and 
safe harbors so common on this coast, and artificial 
means have had to be adopted, which only in a 
measure meet the need. The steamer being unable 
to reach the wharf, passengers and mail bags were 
taken ashore in small boats. Here is a Methodist 
church seating 1,200 people, and with a congrega- 
tion to match it ; also a large and handsome Anglican 
church. 

In the afternoon we steam into the harbor of 
Greenspond, on the north side of the bay. Greens- 
pond is an island with a population of 1,600. A 

179 



The Skipper Parson 



medley of houses, stores, and business premises, with 
two goodly sized churches at either end, confront 
us as we enter the harbor. The island of Greens- 
pond is almost wholly rock, so that soil had to be 
brought from the mainland before the little artifi- 
cially made gardens that we see could have an exist- 
ence. The crowded harbor, with its fishing boats, 
large and small, bespeaks the calling of the people 
and an extensive trade. The scene is strikingly 
picturesque, and a gentleman on board compares it 
to a place in Norway. 

After leaving Greenspond my old field of labor, 
Wesleyville, comes into view. From the steamer's 
deck it seemed an enormous extent of territory, 
reaching from the place named to Cape Freels, and 
then away along the strip of coast for eight or nine 
miles to Seal Cove. The glory of the setting sun 
was cast like a benediction on that low-lying, lonely 
shore, where for three years I toiled among a loving 
people. Memories were awakened that touched 
the deepest feelings of my heart, both of thankful- 
ness and regret. My thoughts were of the setting 
of the last sun, and the last scanning of life's labors, 
before the coming of the King and the final account. 

The night came on, and the lighthouses flashed 
forth their cheering beacon. All who go down to 
the sea thank God for the lighthouses — milestones 
of the coast ! Welcome guides when moon and stars 
fail ! Silent witnesses of man's humanity to man ! 

I am reminded of a queer notion of a funny old 
man : 

1 80 



The Skipper Parson 



"Them there lighthouses have ruined the coun- 
try," said he to me. 

"Why, how can that be?" I asked, in blank 
amazement. 

"They have frightened away all the birds," he 
replied. 

Thus if some men "think in continents," others 
think in square yards. Every question is seen only 
from the standpoint of their own doorstep — the 
purely selfish point of view. Like my old friend, 
they miss a shot and blame a government. A speck 
of dust on the glass of their telescope obliterates 
worlds of good. 

"Good morning!" is the word we hear on all sides 
as we come up from our comfortable staterooms. 
How often have we uttered this familiar greeting to 
some fellow mortal to whom we knew the day would 
bring nothing but repetition of pain and suffering. 
But now hearty tones, and still more expressive 
looks, showed that everybody expected this day 
would be a good day to one and all ; and so it turned 
out. 

There was no seasickness on board, the waters 
were too calm for that, and all enjoyed the delights 
which the bountiful Creator had spread over land 
and sea. We were told that during the night we 
had been into Fogo harbor, and that, the weather 
being fine, the captain had judged well to continue 
the voyage. 

"The magnificent Bay of Notre Dame now opens 

up before the gaze of the voyager along the coast. 

181 



The Skipper Parson 



It is more than fifty miles in width at its mouth, 
and with its numerous arms it reaches seventy or 
eighty miles inland. Its shores are now famous as 
the great copper-bearing region. The whole coast 
here for many miles inland is covered with mining 
grants and licenses, and mineral indications are met 
over an extent of country forty or fifty miles in 
length." 

About 9 a. m. we reach Twillingate, the fishing 
center of the north, a clean and trim little town with 
a population of 3,585. Here we have two large 
churches and two ministers. Our brethren are 
awaiting us at the landing place, one of them with 
his horse and carriage, and we enjoy a run ashore. 
The Church of England clergyman of this place, a 
man of evangelical and liberal sentiments, was one 
of our fellow voyagers, and we regretted to say 
"Good-bye" ; but at almost every port we lost some 
pleasant companion. 

During the whole of this voyage we had been 
charmed with the scenery, but it was not until we 
left Twillingate that the glories of the northern 
coast appeared. The picturesque, the weird, and 
the sublime arose before us again and again dur- 
ing the day. There were strange rock forma- 
tions and many well-wooded islands set like gems 
in the placid waters, through which the steamer 
boldly threaded her way. It was clear that a mas- 
ter hand was upon the helm, for now a great 
hill seemed to challenge the steamer's advance, but, 

as she proceeded, lo, a lake of water opened before 

182 



The Skipper Parson 



us, where we found a village and a crowd on the 
wharf awaiting us, made aware of our approach 
by the steamer's horn. Its hoarse scream broke the 
dreamy silence that reigned, reverberated through 
hills and woods, and aroused the drowsy village. 
Here also we enjoyed a run ashore. The little 
Roman Catholic chapel, with its open door, seemed 
to bid us welcome, and we entered. 

We returned in the same course, and the trans- 
formation scenes of varying and unending beauty 
continued, until toward evening we reached Pilley's 
Island, a new mining settlement. Before us was a 
scene of life and bustle. Numerous and hastily put 
up buildings unmistakably marked the mining in- 
dustry. A great steamer was loading at the wharf, 
where a large and promiscuous crowd, such as is 
never seen in the more quiet and orderly fishing 
towns and villages, greeted our coming. It was 
curious to watch this gayly noisy and boisterous 
crowd of humanity. Iron pyrites brought them all 
here, from the manager and staff downward; 
brought also this steamer here, and was likely to 
keep people here, and to keep steamers coming for 
a long time. 

Little Bay Island, beautiful of approach, beautiful 
of location, the harbor lakelike in its calmness and 
hill-protected environment, brought us back again 
to the realm of King Cod. Here nature reigned, 
not art; and we felt and appreciated the difference. 
If I remember aright, we anchored for the night 

at Pilley's Island, and next morning completed the 

183 



The Skipper Parson 

short run that remained, first to Little Bay Island, 
and finally to Little Bay. This finished the voyage 
as far as we were concerned. There were a number 
of other ports of call en route besides those I have 
described. Each brought a little change, usually a 
run ashore; and each had some feature of interest' 
or pleasure peculiarly its own. 

"Yonder is Little Bay!" White houses and 
buildings beyond a pebbled beach at the head of a 
pretty little bay were all we could make out, but 
the great cloud of smoke rising over the hill to the 
left, together with the complete absence of fishing 
craft and gear, left no doubt that, though yet in 
Newfoundland, we were actually outside of the 
radius of fish and fishing and had reached that of 
mines and minerals. 

With reluctant good-byes to our compagnons de 

voyage we turned to face new friends, and to meet 

old duties in a new sphere. 

184 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XVIII 
Little Bay 

"It is a great pity that we are not taught, in our early 
days, how to see. It is more important than reading and 
writing, than arithmetic or geography. In a world of bound- 
less treasures, above, beneath, on every side, we walk as 
if there were but few things worth seeing. And even these, 
when we have looked upon them once or twice, we exhaust, 
and suppose that we have really seen them."-— Henry Ward 
Beecher. 

Little Bay was divided by a hill into two parts, 
called, respectively, the Bight and the Loading 
Wharf. The Bight was Little Bay proper, contain- 
ing the Presbyterian church, the company's stores 
and offices, telegraph offices, club rooms, jeweler's 
shop, and the homes of some of the leading residents 
and many of the miners. The Loading Wharf de- 
rived its name from the fact that here the large 
New York steamers took in the pure copper for 
transportation abroad. The smelting works were 
situated here, also the homes of the manager, his 
staff, and many workpeople, and a schoolroom in 
which we regularly conducted services. A drearier 
looking place it would be hard to find. The sulphur 
smoke went up in great volumes, and when the wind 
drove it inland, and the heavy atmosphere prevented 
its rise, those who were obliged to pass through it 

were almost suffocated. It gave the buildings a 

185 



The Skipper Parson 



shabby appearance, and, of course, destroyed vege- 
tation. Because of the sulphur smoke, it was useless 
for the people to take any pride in the exterior of 
their dwellings, and from outward appearances 
no one would imagine the comfort that reigned 
within. 

The two places, or rather the two distinct parts 
of Little Bay, were connected by a road that wound 
round a hill, and also by the more direct and fre- 
quented way for pedestrians, a very long flight of 
steps that scaled the hill at its steepest. On the 
summit of this hill, midway between the Bight and 
Loading Wharf, were the Roman Catholic and 
Anglican places of worship ; here was also the mouth 
of the celebrated Little Bay copper mine. 

Our parsonage was situated in the Bight, and in 
the most desirable part of it, known as "the park," 
where there were a number of pretty residences, 
including that of the manager, who was a wise 
and indomitable Scotsman. It was a pretty situa- 
tion, looking toward the harbor, with a quiet lake 
in the rear, and fronted by long rows of trees, for 
in the Bight we were beyond the reach of the sul- 
phur smoke, and the greenness and freshness of 
nature gladdened our eyes. Whatever beauty there 
was came from nature and not art, the place as a 
whole being irregularly built, and most of the houses 
having a squatty, unadorned look. It lacked, for 
instance, the neatness and trimness of our late home, 
Trinity; but these are qualities not to be looked 

for in a mining center. Life is rich in compensa- 

186 



The Skipper Parson 



tions, and we discovered that what Little Bay lacked 
in one direction it more than made up in another. 

Of the population of 2,116, if we cannot say it 
was cosmopolitan, it is simple truth that its diversity 
made it interesting, for here were Scotch, English, 
Irish, Canadians, and Americans, as well as New- 
foundlanders ; and even distant Ceylon was repre- 
sented in the person of our doctor, a graduate of 
Edinburgh. The people generally were in comfort- 
able circumstances, not having to depend upon a 
calling so precarious as the fishery, but being in re- 
ceipt of a regular monthly wage. It was strange 
to be in a place in Newfoundland where the people 
did not live by the catching or trading of fish. Such 
was Little Bay, for I only remember one man who 
owned his schooner, and who went down to the sea 
for a livelihood. In a word, it was an ideal indus- 
trial community. 

A pleasing feature of life in Little Bay was the 
good feeling that existed among the churches, the 
Roman Catholic priest, Episcopal clergyman, and 
Methodist minister setting an example of friendli- 
ness which pervaded the community. There was 
something in the air of the place that, it seems to 
me, would have frowned down bigotry and made it 
impossible for it to thrive ; that favored catholicity, 
charity. I have two very gratifying recollections 
of this. 

The first of these was a united concert for the 
benefit of the sufferers from the St. John's fire. A 

call of this sort afforded just the needed oppor- 

187 



The Skipper Parson 



tunity for the expression of the feeling that existed. 
The priest and the ministers sat on the platform., 
and took part in the literary programme, while the 
wives of the latter and the niece of the former led 
in the musical portion. The respective congrega- 
tions followed their spiritual guides, and shibboleths, 
for the time being, at least, were forgotten. A hand- 
some sum was realized for the worthy object in view, 
and still better we felt the advantage and blessing 
of being brought into touch and union by coopera- 
tion in a good work. 

A still more gratifying circumstance to me was 
this: All the time I was in Little Bay, I preached 
in the Presbyterian church, and had among my 
regular hearers and communicants a number who 
were Presbyterians and Congregationalists. The 
Presbyterians having no minister, their church was 
kindly granted for our use. The members of the 
churches named — among whom were the heads of 
the mine, the smelting works, and the store — joined 
with us in worship, and assisted our work in every 
way. Sabbath by Sabbath I had the pleasure of 
preaching to as devout and thoughtful a congrega- 
tion as ever it has been my lot to minister to. "Be- 
hold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren 
to dwell together in unity." We trust this circum- 
stance is but one of the straws that show the way 
the wind is blowing, a small augury of the union 
now advocated between these three great churches 
— Presbyterian, Congregational, and Methodist. 

Believing such a union would bring glory to God 

188 



The Skipper Parson 



and good to man, our earnest prayer is, God speed 
the day ! 

In connection with the Epworth League of Chris- 
tian Endeavor which we organized at the Loading 
Wharf, we soon got together an orchestra of about 
twelve instruments. The creation of this orchestra 
incidentally shows the latent talent in this place, 
which is not uncommon in mixed communities. 
Thus equipped, we gave a monthly literary and 
musical evening. Our object, next to seeking their 
salvation, was to try to .brighten and elevate the lives 
of the people. The men formed a dismal procession 
coming out of the pit, their clothes wet with mire, 
and a candle sticking in their caps. Working in 
the pit, or half stripped before a roaring furnace 
ladling the molten ore, attending a trolley, assisting 
in the loading of a steamer, shoveling all day amid 
sulphur smoke, or whatever was their particular 
duty, they were all sons of toil. Their calling was 
a dangerous one always. We can never forget one 
poor fellow, the victim of an explosion, carried home 
blinded and disfigured beyond all recognition. Is it 
any wonder, then, that we felt the call to do some- 
thing to uplift and sweeten their lives ? Our efforts 
in this direction were fully appreciated. The school- 
room at the Loading Wharf was crowded to the 
doors each month by an eager audience listening 
to "the concord of sweet sounds," or the utterance 
of "noble thoughts in noble words." All the Chris- 
tian people heartily laid hold of the work, and we 

felt ourselves amply repaid in a sense of good done. 

189 



The Skipper Parson 



In the winter, when the steamers ceased running, 
we were more completely shut in. But who has 
not observed, with the great dramatist, "how use 
doth breed a habit in a man" ? Being accustomed 
thereto, we ceased to mind it. We were then a little 
world in ourselves, and as self-sufficing as neces- 
sity required us to be. The telegraph kept us in- 
formed that the great outside world lived and 
moved, and the mails, if less frequent, came with 
wonderful regularity, considering that they were 
drawn by a dog train or carried on the back of 
stalwart men. After seeing the mail come in one 
day, I was painfully impressed with the primitive- 
ness and slavishness of this out-dated method of 
mail carrying. When I met them the men were 
bearing the heavy mailbags upon their backs, the 
dogs following; for when the dog train for any 
reason became ineffective, there was nothing else 
that could be done. After that I was less prone to 
grumble if mails were late, and far more inclined to 
be grateful to men whose arduous and perilous duty 
it w T as to bring them to us over so many miles of 
trackless snow wastes, frozen ponds, rivers, or bays, 
in face of the worst storms, or the deceitfulness of 
ice after a sudden thaw. The marvel to me was how 
they ever accomplished it. This was the old style in 
Newfoundland, once generally prevailing, lingering 
yet in places, but doomed to vanish like snow in 
spring before the new style fast coming in. 

Little Bay possessed a considerable herd of goats, 

of which one belonged to us at the parsonage, re- 

190 



The Skipper Parson 



turning each evening from her wanderings and 
feeding abroad to her own housie and home pro- 
vision, to yield in return a supply of excellent milk. 

The great rage in Little Bay — pastime, work, 
hobby, enterprise, or whatever we may term it — 
was "prospecting." Here at least was a place where 
men had learned to use their eyes with effect, both 
for the world's good and for their own advantage. 
The whole district was marked off into "claims." 
If all these were developed, turning out as profitable 
as their owners imagined, the world would have an 
ample supply of copper for many years to come, 
even though all other mines in operation now were 
closed. But as with many of men's undertakings, 
so with copper mines, only a small percentage of 
them come up to expectations. Nevertheless, the 
spirit that seeks is a good one, and ought to be en- 
couraged ; for to it all the advancement of the world 
is to be attributed. In the long run nothing is lost. 
Your "claim," your little enterprise, has more good 
in it than a skeptical world credits; has in it, quite 
possibly, all the real, intrinsic worth you think, and 
in that case it may be brought to light any day; 
certainly, it will in some bright day to come. If 
you can but advance the inflowing tide of progress, 
though it may be by a ripple only, it will be worth 
while having lived to do it. 

The Little Bay Mine and Smelting Works, during 
the time of our residence there, employed from 500 
to 600 men, and paid from $10,000 to $12,000 per 
month in wages. 

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The Skipper Parson 



I am indebted to my friend; George L. Thompson, 
Esq., then manager of the smelting works, for the 
following historical resume of this mine: "Mining 
operations commenced in August, 1878, and before 
the end of the year 10,000 tons of copper ore, carry- 
ing about eight per cent copper, was mined and 
shipped to England, the greater part of this ore 
having been quarried from the outcrop of lode. 

"Smelting the low-grade ore into regulus of about 
thirty-two per cent copper was introduced in 1883, 
and continued up to the end of 1886, the production 
of regulus being 3,077 tons, the high-grade ore 
produced during this period being exported to 
England. 

"In 1887 the shipment of copper ore was stopped, 
the whole output of the mine being smelted into best 
select ingot copper, this mode of operations being 
carried on for five years, during which time 5,792 
tons of ingot copper was produced. 

"About the end of 1892, owing to the price of 
copper being down to £37 or £39 sterling per ton, 
the smelting works were stopped, and work in the 
mine practically closed down, only a limited amount 
of prospecting being carried on in the upper levels. 

"During the years 1895-6 all work was stopped, 
and since then to the present time the picking over 
of the mine waste dumps has been carried on.'' 

Mr. Thompson further says : 

"Notre Dame Bay may be described as the center 
of the mining industry so far as copper is concerned 

in the past, although of late years development work 

192 



The Skipper Parson 



has been carried on at York Harbor on the west 
coast. 

"The ores are chiefly sulphides — forming bunches 
and strings, occurring mainly in chloritic slates. 
There are large intercalations of diorite in the 
slate." 

Tilt Cove Mine has an output of about 80,000 
tons of ore per annum, carrying about three and a 
half per cent copper, besides an appreciable amount 
of gold, and bears handsome profits. 

Pilleys Island yields iron pyrites, and since 1899 
work by New York parties has been carried on. 

Betts Cove Mine (now closed) has had a some- 
what eventful and unfortunate history. During the 
twelve years of its operations it yielded about 117,- 
000 tons, carrying from eight per cent to ten per 
cent copper. 

Other mines, more or less celebrated, are: Bar- 
tons Pond, Stocking Harbor, Colchester, McNeilly, 
Sunday Cove Island, Terra Nova or Little Bay 
North, etc. 

Although mining operations in Newfoundland 
only commenced in 1864, people being slow to believe 
in anything but fish and seals in connection with the 
country, yet to-day Terra Nova ranks as the sixth 
copper-producing country of the world. And in 
addition to copper, her mines in different parts are 
producing iron, lead, nickel, and gypsum, while there 
are being quarried large supplies of marble and slate. 
Extensive coal fields are said to exist, and there are 
encouraging indications of gold. 

193 



The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XIX 
Cruising Again 

"Sith sails of largest size 

The storm doth soonest tear, 
I bear so low and small a sail, 
As freeth" me from fear." — Southwell. 

Besides having the oversight of the churches in 
Little Bay and a small contiguous settlement, once 
in six weeks I was expected to visit Halls Bay. This 
trip was not unwelcome, as it afforded relief from 
the constant strain of work in one place, and was in 
itself a pleasant change with a spice of adventure 
about it. 

Halls Bay, an offshoot of Notre Dame Bay, runs 
miles inland, a beautiful and expansive sheet of 
water. Wolf Cove on the north side and far up 
in the Bay, and Boot Harbor on the south side and 
nearer its entrance, were the settlements visited. 
Once or twice I got a chance in the company's 
steam launch, but usually I went with Jerry, the mail 
man. Jerry lived in a tilt on the beach, and his 
single possession seemed to be his rowboat, with its 
couple of paddles, and "so low and small a sail" 
as suited his little craft, which, mast included, was 
put up and taken down at will. Jerry always wel- 
comed me as a traveling companion; was glad, I 
imagine, to have some one to talk to and so break 

the monotony of the long and lonesome journey. 

194 



The Skipper Parson 



He was one of those happy-go-lucky characters that 
seem oblivious both to the frowns and smiles of 
fortune. His gayety was his contempt for his pov- 
erty. With other manifest imperfections,, we could 
not imagine him anything else than poor, and ad- 
mired the providence which had so framed him that 
poverty didn't trouble him much. His supreme en- 
joyment, so wonderfully do extremes meet, was that 
of some of the wisest — so-called — of our race, a pipe 
and a friendly chat. But Jerry was a good friend 
to me, and we had a good time together, so let it 
not be thought that I desire to disparage him or 
overlook some excellent qualities in his character. 

The first half of the journey was through an inlet 
from Halls Bay. Having reached a certain point, 
we carried our boat, or rather dragged it, over a 
little hill of sand, when we launched it on the waters 
of the inlet. Here was perfectly calm water, quite 
shoal in parts, dotted with islands, and with the 
land at either side at no great distance. Here and 
there were a few lonely settlers. At noon we tied 
our boat to a rock and stopped to lunch on the beach. 
It wasn't long before Jerry had a crackling fire of 
brushwood and "the kettle bilin'." Then the deli- 
cacies and substantial which somebody at home had 
prepared for us were spread out, and we enjoyed 
them as only those do whose appetites have been 
sharpened by a long fast and hard work in the 
open air. 

On reaching Halls Bay we paddled along for 
miles more, hugging close to the shore, until, as 

195 



The Skipper Parson 



evening shades were gathering, we landed at Wolf 
Cove. 

The difficulty and labor of reaching this isolated 
spot was amply rewarded by the quiet but delightful 
Sabbath we spent at Wolf Cove, in the happy con- 
sciousness that our presence and work were thor- 
oughly enjoyed and appreciated. There were from 
a dozen to a score of families ; a nice, refined people, 
mostly from Twillingate, who had been attracted to 
these solitudes by lumbering facilities. Better still, 
they were almost all sincere and earnest Christians, 
and came in a body to the plain little house of prayer 
which they had built, and which they kept spotlessly 
clean and neat. In addition to preaching, we held 
Sunday school, class meeting, and communion. 
These loving and loyal disciples kept the fire on the 
altar burning during all the Sabbaths of their minis- 
ter's absence. There was a day school in Wolf Cove 
during part of the year, so that the children were 
sure of some rudimentary training at least. On 
Monday we crossed the bay to Boot Harbor, which 
in every detail, except that the people hailed from 
Conception Bay, was almost a duplication of Wolf 
Cove. After a day or two spent here, a man kindly 
took me back to Little Bay. Crossing the bay when 
the wind blew hard I found much more risky than 
coasting with Jerry, and I was glad not to be in his 
frail craft just then. 

The lonely solitude of Halls Bay, unbroken by 

any sound except the shrill cry of a bird or the low 

murmur of the water, was very impressive. We 

196 



The Skipper Parson 



might very easily have imagined ourselves far from 
all the haunts of man had not the sudden blowing 
of the whistle of the sawmill on yonder island re- 
minded us of the invasion already begun, which 
would some day make these shores and this bay 
the scene of busy, human interest. And what enjoy- 
ment, scenic and health-giving, is here for thousands 
when these solitudes become accessible! So I 
thought as we paddled along the southern shore. 
Here the rocky battlements tower high above the 
water, and are broken into deep fissures, a miniature 
harbor, a dark cavern. Away on the other side 
the land slopes gently to the water, as if in friendly 
communion; and in a long stretch of unbroken 
coast line is the one little bit of clearance, with its 
tilled fields and curling smoke. 

The plashing of our oars but emphasizes the deep, 
soothing stillness of nature. Now a wide harbor 
opens, and the waters, with their rhythmic ebb and 
flow, lap a pretty circling beach. The buildings of 
the little settlement are all taken in at a glance ; the 
ten or a dozen houses, the school chapel at one end, 
and the sawmill over the brook at the other. 

Looking far away in the bay again, toward its en- 
trance, a dark object looms up that strangely thrills 
my heart. It is one of the watchdogs of the Brit- 
ish empire, that prowl on her every sea, guard- 
ing the sacred rights of her subjects. Here, in one 
of the loneliest outposts of that empire, lies a British 
man-of-war, with the Union Jack peacefully flying 

from her stern. It is the ship, but more the place 

197 



The Skipper Parson 



in which the ship appears, that stirs within me emo- 
tions of pride and gladness, and inspires thoughts 
of Britain's far-reaching sway, "dominion over palm 
and pine," and evokes the prayer that her influence 
may be for good and only for good. 

Even in these solitudes, where we might imagine 
people's lives were as placid as their surroundings, 
when permitted to read their story we were some- 
times surprised at unexpected depths. Visiting a 
poor dwelling and addressing the lone woman who 
was the only occupant, I was startled to hear her 
greet me in the dearly familiar accent of my native 
Scotland. "And thereby hangs a tale." Very soon 
she opened her heart to me, and this, in brief, is what 
she said : "In my native toon, Glasgow, I was happy 
and content untae puir health forced me on the doc- 
tor's hands. His chief advice for me was a sea 
voyage. A freen got a passage for me in a ship 
bound for America. The first port we touched at 
was St. John's, in this country. In a very short 
time I got a fine offer o' a position as housekeeper 
in a gentleman's family, and I made up my mind tae 
stay. Of course, I never thocht it wad be for lang, 
as I was expecting tae gae back hame in gude health 
tae Scotland. But the years slipt by swiftly, as they 
hae a way o' doing, and by and by I got married. 
It was na lang before we cam' to live here. My man 
is awa most o' the time, and I am alane in this 
solitary place. I feel my heart sair heavy all the 
day. You see, I am city born and bred, and have 
been used tae having loats tae do. O, I often wish 



The Skipper Parson 



we were back in St. John's or anywhere awa oot 
o' this." The woman's face, though marked with 
sadness and heart-hunger, showed unmistakable 
traces of refinement, and the story as she told it, 
with the inimitable pathos and sweetness of the 
Doric, especially as I glanced around the bare and 
cheerless room, void even of the music of a child's 
voice, made a strong appeal to my sympathies. "It 
cam' up roond my heart." 

I saw, however, the danger that beset her, of 
making a solitude within a solitude by isolating her- 
self from the people of the little community, among 
whom for the present her lot was cast. I prayed that 
God might appear to her as to Hagar in the wilder- 
ness, a Living Presence, making plain the path of 
duty. 

There was another I chanced to meet here who 
actually courted solitude. For him the small settle- 
ment was too crowded, and he built his little house 
miles away from any other dwelling. There he lived 
absolutely alone. I met this man at church once or 
twice, and then he retired again to his hermitage. 
Not believing that the love of solitude is natural to 
any man, or could be borne by any man without some 
adequate cause, I inquired if this cause was known. 
The reply I received was not wholly unexpected: 
"A disappointment in love." He sank under his 
misfortune, and apparently chose to do so, abandon- 
ing hope where nobler spirits, spurred by disap- 
pointment, rise and press on again to win in the end. 
For 

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The Skipper Parson 



"Men may rise on stepping stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things." 

There was another settlement in Halls Bay which 
we have not named, a settlement still smaller than 
the other two, but more picturesque — of Indians, 
those 

"Rugged types of primal man, 
Grim utilitarian; 

Loving woods for haunt and prowl, 
Lake and hill for fish and fowl." 

I had heard of their presence in the bay, and when 
the word was passed around that one of them was 
dead, and the funeral was to take place that day, 
I decided to attend. It was a house standing alone ; 
all the Indians in the bay were present, and they 
no more than filled the two little rooms. The num- 
ber of white people who attended, and who stood 
about the door, was greater. The Indians were 
members of the Roman Catholic Church. No priest 
was present, but one of their number, who had been 
taught to read prayers in their native tongue, offici- 
ated. The reading or chanting in a minor key, to 
which their voices seemed peculiarly adapted, was 
joined in by all, their prostrate forms facing the 
coffin, on which there were lighted candles. Though 
pitched in a monotone, their voices often broke into 
a wail or lament of the most perfect kind. This 
must have lasted a full hour. When the coffin was 
being brought forth and placed on a waiting sled 
to be borne to its last resting place, good order 
and discipline were lost, and wails became shrieks. 

200 



The Skipper Parson 



The grave was too far for us to follow, and with a 
handshake and a word of sympathy we took our 
farewell, feeling that in the deepest things in life we 
are all one — red man, and white man, and all the 
rest of God's great family. 

The original race of Indians in Newfoundland, 
the Bethuk or Boethic, is long ago extinct. Learned 
authorities classify the Bethuk as a branch of the 
widespread and warlike Algonquins. Of the aborig- 
ines, when he landed in 1497, Cabot is reported to 
have said: "The inhabitants of this island use the 
skins and furs of wild beasts for garments, which 
they hold in as high estimation as we do our finest 
clothes. In war they use bows and arrows, spears, 
darts, clubs, and slings/' The historian tells us: 
"As to their personal appearance, the Bethuk men 
were of the ordinary stature, about five feet ten inches 
in height. Their hair was coarse and black, and the 
men let it fall over their faces. Their complexion 
was lighter than that of the Micmacs. Their dress 
consisted of two dressed deerskins, which were 
thrown over their shoulders, sometimes having 
sleeves. Rough moccasins of deerskin covered their 
feet. There is nothing to show that they had any 
religious culture or mode of worship, and the vocab- 
ulary which has been preserved does not contain any 
word to express the idea of a deity." But they are 
all gone. Newfoundland to-day does not contain 
a single representative of the interesting race who 
were once the sole lords of her wide domains. Not 

the white man only, but their red brother, the Mic- 

201 



The Skipper Parson 



mac from Nova Scotia, having learned the use of 
firearms, assailed them, and this doomed race ceased 
to be. They have vanished away 

"Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, 
Like the withered leaves of autumn." 

The few remaining red men in Newfoundland to- 
day are representatives of the Micmacs from Nova 
Scotia. 

Toward autumn an occasional steamer may be 
seen making her way in the direction of the head 
of the bay. Doubtless she is conveying sportsmen 
bound for the interior; from England and the 
United States they come, not in great numbers, but 
with evident zest. "A very paradise of sportsmen" 
Newfoundland has been termed. The Micmacs to 
whom we have referred are employed as guides. 
The "White Hills" in the adjacent country is a 
favorite stalking ground for caribou. These noble 
animals are sometimes seen swimming across the 
bay. 

During our residence in Wesleyville, when butch- 
er's meat was scarce, almost to the vanishing point, 
we found a good substitute in the fish and game that 
were so plentifully supplied. During that fall the 
ptarmigan, wrongly called partridge, was almost 
our daily dependence. They are in reality willow 
grouse, and are said to be quite equal to the Scotch 
grouse. The following from the pen of Hatton and 
Harvey is almost the picture of an eyewitness of 
the wide game-frequented spaces, stretching like a 

202 



The Skipper Parson 



billowy sea far back from the Wesleyville parson- 
age: "The surface of the country is dotted with 
bright lakelets, on which float the white and yellow 
water lilies; the low rounded hills are covered to 
the summits with dark green spruce; the 'barrens,' 
or open spaces, clear of wood, where the game is 
to be sought, are clad in the somber brown of au- 
tumn ; the scent of the wild flowers is delicious, and 
near the coast glimpses of the restless Atlantic are 
obtained from the higher ground." Also, in the 
season, we were surfeited with salmon; in Trinity 
five cents a pound would command the best in the 
market, and plenty at that. 

"Nature has stocked the island with noble herds 
of caribou or reindeer, finer than those that Norway 
and Lapland can boast, specimens of which are 
found at times to weigh over six hundred pounds." 
Many a time when the successful sportsman has 
''come in from the hunting" have we enjoyed the 
venison, which, with the generosity usual in these 
small communities, was shared among neighbors 
and friends. 

As to the general merits of Newfoundland from 
a sportsman's point of view, I quote from Lord Dun- 
raven in the Nineteenth Century for January, 1881 : 

"Newfoundland is not so much visited by Eng- 
lishmen. I know not why, for it is the nearest and 
most accessible of their colonies, and it offers a good 
field for exploration and for sport. The interior 
of a great part of the island, all the northern part 

of it, in fact, is almost unknown. The variety of 

203 



The Skipper Parson 



game is not great; there are no moose or small 
deer, and bears are, strange to say, very scarce; 
but caribou are plentiful, and the Newfoundland 
stags are finer by far than any to be found in any 
portion of the continent of North America. . . . 
The interior is full of lakes, and is traversed by 
many streams navigable by canoes. Fur is pretty 
plentiful, wild fowl and grouse abundant, and the 
creeks and rivers are full of salmon and trout." 

I have now to describe the annual missionary 
meeting tour. Next to Conference, this was to us 
the event of the year. It was an enterprise rather 
long and arduous, but it offered great enjoyment, 
and was looked forward to with pleasure. In the 
month of March, 1892, Revs. William Rex, of Little 
Bay Island, Edwin Moore, of Pilleys Island, and 
myself united to visit every church and schoolhouse 
on our respective circuits, in the interest of the mis- 
sionary fund. This was the best time for such an 
expedition, for the ponds and bays are yet frozen 
and the biting element taken out of the air. 

For a trip like this we had to look to our equip- 
ment. To provide against the slippery ice the soles 
of our leather boots were covered with sparables; 
for the deep snow, there were our rackets and Indian 
sewn sealskin boots, which were better than moc- 
casins, because waterproof. Another necessity was 
a pair of goggles for the eyes, to protect them from 
the blinding glare of the March sun reflected on 
the ice and snow. 

To reach Little Bay Island, the place of our first 

204 



The Skipper Parson 



meeting, I had to travel on the ice some four or 
five miles. I was fortunate in falling in with a 
skater, who aided me grandly. Having secured a 
sled for me, he skated behind, pushing me along at 
a great speed. This original and almost royal mode 
of travel I never enjoyed before or after. When we 
came near the island we found difficulty in effecting 
a landing, and even my skillful friend was puzzled. 
The ice along the shore was poor, and we heard that 
a number lately, in trying, like ourselves, to reach 
the shore, had been plunged into the chilly water. 
One of these was my friend Mr. Rex, who, having 
clambered on an ice pan, was compelled to dance 
a ''Highland fling" to keep his limbs from freezing, 
and to keep it up until rescued. By dexterous skip- 
ping and jumping, in which my companion led the 
way and shouted directions, we reached the solid 
land. 

We began our campaign here that night. The 
annual missionary meeting among Newfoundland 
Methodists, as intimated, was a great event. Then 
we had our largest crowds, best speaking and sing- 
ings and biggest collections. The laymen of the 
church played no small part in these gatherings. 
As speakers they strongly reinforced their clerical 
brethren ; sometimes as many as six or eight would 
be on the platform at once, each willing and even 
eager to have his word. Neither were the honors 
of the occasion wholly with the preachers, for some 
of those laymen, though with little or no schooling, 

often spoke with a fire and force that were won- 

205 



The Skipper Parson 



derfully effective. I remember one whom we may 
call Skipper Peter (in a rough way suggesting 
Peter, fisherman, disciple, and apostle of gospel 
story), who with a manly bearing, clear metallic 
voice, and evident Christian enthusiasm, aroused a 
meeting to a fine glow of feeling and a high level 
of liberality, by addressing us in this fashion. 

"Brothers and sisters, it is all right to sing, as we 
have just been doing, 

"Fly abroad, thou mighty gospel ! 
Win and conquer, never cease," 

but more than singing is needed, more than preach- 
ing and praying, if the gospel is to be spread abroad. 
It is like this, you see. God has given us the sea, 
and he sends the winds, but we have to build ships, 
and then we have to rig 'em and man 'em. We 
must have ships to launch on the sea, and sails to 
catch the breezes, and men to do the work, or what's 
the good? God has given us this 'mighty gospel' 
about which we have been singing, and it is free 
— free as the ocean, free as the air, 'without money 
and without price.' But there's lots for us to 
do all the same. We want churches, Bibles, and 
missionaries. The gospel ship won't make head- 
way unless there are men to tend the sails. We 
may sing all day and nothing will come of it. Then, 
all hands to the rescue ! Bring your dollars and put 
them in the Lord's treasury. Come now, lend a 
hand, everyone, not only men and women, but boys 

and girls. If all Christians will lend a willing hand 

206 



The Skipper Parson 



the gospel will fly abroad and no mistake — will 'win 
and conquer, never cease.' " 

In such words Skipper Peter spoke, and his fiery 
eloquence reached the heart, and touched the springs 
of will. 

To get from Little Bay Island to our next place 
demanded of us a hard and dangerous walk over 
the ice to the opposite shore some miles distant. 
Wind and tide had jammed together masses of 
floating ice, now frozen solid, but with a surface 
rough and uneven — "hummocky," as Newfound- 
landers called it — and liable to have treacherous 
spots to catch the unwary. Two guides came with 
us, making a party of five. The guides led the way, 
and for safety we walked in Indian file, keeping 
some distance apart, each man carrying a "gaff." 
It was a long and tiresome, as well as a dangerous, 
journey, but we reached the other shore safely. 
Here we held another missionary meeting. 

Next day we struck out in another direction. 
It was an all-day tramp. Fortunately, conditions 
of travel were much more favorable than yesterday. 
The ice was a safe promenade, with just enough 
crisp snow covering it to make good footing, and 
the sun cheered us with his genial rays. We needed 
no guide, and the three of us as we tramped along 
made ourselves merry with song and story. When 
we reached the land, and began our walk through 
the woods, our snowshoes were needed, indeed in- 
dispensable, for here the snow was deep. "Night 

her solemn mantle spreads," and we hasten along. 

207 



The Skipper Parson 



We arrived barely in time to have a cup of' tea before 
an enthusiastic meeting in the little schoolhouse. 
From this place we separated for the Sunday, my 
appointment being Pilleys Island. There I spent a 
happy Sunday among an earnest people, preaching 
morning and evening. On Tuesday evening we 
held our missionary meeting in Pilleys Island. The 
school chapel was crowded to the doors by a repre- 
sentative audience, and we had a grand meeting. 
On Monday, the manager of the mine, an Episco- 
palian gentleman from western Canada, courteously 
entertained us at his home; a kindness we all 
appreciated. 

Refreshed by our stay in Pilleys Island, on 
Wednesday we pointed our course for my own cir- 
cuit. Our destination for that evening was Boot 
Harbor, Halls Bay. This day I enjoyed for the first 
time the luxury of traveling on the ice in a "kom- 
itick," or dogsled, drawn by a team of trained dogs. 
No one who has not participated in it can under- 
stand the exhilarating and pleasant sensation of such 
a mode of travel, under the best conditions. Scenes 
like this live in one's memory. Imagine the frozen 
bay, the ice perfectly smooth, and quite safe as well, 
an azure sky, a warm sun, whose glare on the ice 
marks the face with that peculiar bronze brought 
home by travelers, the barking of dogs as they strain 
every nerve and bear us over the ice at a rapid 
pace, and you will understand something of the 
pleasurable excitement. At Boot Harbor we were 
joined by a gentleman from Little Bay, and had 



The Skipper Parson 



another good meeting. Next morning we walked 
across the bay leisurely to Wolf Cove. Here our 
party was increased by yet another gentleman from 
Little Bay, and the meeting was, if possible, still 
better. 

The crowning meeting of the series was in Little 
Bay next evening, a special feature of which was 
the presence of two Eskimos from the Moravian 
Mission, Labrador, one of whom read the New Tes- 
tament and sang a hymn, in their native tongue, 
while the other presided at the organ. These breth- 
ren, Christian and accomplished, afforded an exam- 
ple of the good work of the world-renowned 
Moravian missionaries. 

After the meeting, our kind friends at the Load- 
ing Wharf gave us a supper, which was followed 
by music and speeches, and thus ended a delightful 
tour, occupying ten days, during which we had not 
a single break or interruption on account of weather 
or any untoward circumstance, while the Missionary 
Society benefited to the extent of four hundred and 
thirty dollars, and we trust that bread was cast 

upon the waters to be found after many days. 

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The Skipper Parson 



CHAPTER XX 
Farewell 

"Shall we meet in that blest harbor, 
When our stormy voyage is o'er? 
Shall we meet and cast the anchor 
By the fair, celestial shore?" — Hastings. 

We took our leave of Newfoundland 4 in July, 
1892, to join another Conference of the Methodist 
Church in Canada. As the steamer slowly left the 
Loading Wharf and made her way out toward the 
sea, our friends who had assembled on the hill, a 
goodly company, sang "Sweet By and By," and 
other hymns, and waved their farewells to the last. 
Kinder or better friends we do not expect to meet on 
earth. But we were borne to other shores and to 
new scenes, while they also, later in the year, dis- 
persed on account of the closing of the works. The 
majority left Newfoundland ; some for lands far dis- 
tant; others settled in the Annapolis Valley, Nova 
Scotia, and we have had the happiness of renewing 
old acquaintance. 

My eleven years in connection with the New- 
foundland Conference, my nine years of work on 
the mission fields within its bounds, are now but 
a memory, yet an unfading memory. I soon found 
out that the rock-bound coast which seemed so for- 
bidding, when I saw it first, guarded and sentineled 

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The Skipper Parson 



a land blessed with sunny skies, enriched with many 
of nature's charms, and, better still, with many 
hearts kind and true, many faithful followers of the 
Lord Jesus Christ. When at first I was cast on her 
shores a shipwrecked voyager, she like a mother re- 
ceived me as an adopted son, and bestowed upon me 
smiles and love, that more than compensated for 
earliest pain and loss. 

Often have I heard my fishermen friends in prayer 
and testimony quote words of vivid significance to 
them, "Hard toiling to make the blest shore." Their 
lives were in many respects peculiarly hard, but 
frequently they were lives ennobled and elevated 
by the presence and blessing of the Master. They 
illustrated strikingly, those humble men and women, 
the truth that godliness compensates in a surprising 
way for the absence of much earthly good, and 
raises its possessors to a position of real happiness 
in spite of untoward circumstances. It was evident, 
that He who aforetime appeared to his disciples 
"distressed in rowing" had manifested himself to 
them also, the pledge that he would bring each, at 
the pleasure of the Father's will, beyond the fogs 
and mists of time to "their desired haven." 

Now, after the lapse of years, the images of cher- 
ished friends come back at memory's call, the brave 
souls with whom we lived and labored : comes, too, 
the poignant thought, "All, all are gone, the old 
familiar faces." 

We shall not again meet them all here, but 
yonder, across the bar, where from every land 

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The Skipper Parson 



God's children are gathered, we shall meet them 
there. 

As we bring this volume to a close we venture to 
express the hope that its perusal may do something 
to stimulate an interest in home missions. It is pro- 
verbially true that that which lies at our own doors 
is seen in the light of the commonplace, while that 
which is afar has, by its very distance, the glamour 
of romance thrown about it. Yet it is our profound 
conviction that home missions, which make for the 
evangelization and education of the people and the 
building of the Christian nation, can only be neg- 
lected with the utmost peril. The work on foreign 
fields grows in commensurate degree, and the final 
conquest of the world for Christ comes appreciably 
nearer as we learn to do our duty to our people in 
town and country at home. 

We bid adieu to our readers with the further hope 
that they may hold a warmer feeling for Ye Old 
Colony, the land which, in allusion to her geograph- 
ical position, has been called, "a stepping-stone be- 
tween the Old World and the New"; which first 
received and passed on the electric wire that bond of 
brotherhood ; and which now, as an elder daughter, 
stretching her hands East and West, beckons to 
closest union and fealty England and America. 

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